


Silhouette

by sparkly_butthole



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Avengers 4 fix it, Avengers Endgame fix-it, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Bucky Barnes & Shuri Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Explicit Het, Post Avengers 4 fix-it, Post-Canon Fix-It, Pre-emptive Avengers 4 fix-it, Pre-emptive mountain of salt, Professor X - Freeform, Skrull(s), Songfic, Special Guest Appearances by - Freeform, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, fuck marvel, sage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-10-26 16:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17749736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_butthole/pseuds/sparkly_butthole
Summary: Thanos is gone, but Steve has one last thing to do.Where does that leave Bucky Barnes?





	1. Devil's On Your Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all. I’d like to welcome you to my pre-emptive A4 fix-it fic starring Steve, Bucky, and a mountain-load of salt. I came up with this idea last year when it occurred to me that they might send Steve back in time to be with Peggy. This fic is compliant through IW and is based off of what I think they’ll do to Steve in the upcoming Avengers: Endgame. Spoiler alert: I hate it. 
> 
> I’ve worked through a lot of emotional issues with regards to the upcoming movie through this fic, so it’s been pretty important to me over the last few months. I wanted to get it out there now, before the movie crushes my soul into dust (whomp whomp).
> 
> Title and chapters are from a song called Silhouette by Aquilo, which I felt encompassed Steve and Bucky’s relationship in the movies and in this fic. The full video with lyrics are linked below. Please give the song a listen, it’s beautiful both within and without a stucky context.
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> [Silhouette- Aquilo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K4zvL5gn8Eo)
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> Beta for this is the incomparable [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry). I'd also like to thank [cleo4u2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2) and [opposablethumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opposablethumbs/pseuds/opposablethumbs) for their input. Thanks for being there for me, guys!

The grassy knoll in Wakanda stretches before them, all the way to the horizon line. Bucky feels the wind on his face, smells freedom in the cool breeze of a late spring day. It’s one of the most beautiful moments of his unnaturally long life - or unnaturally short one, depending upon how one looks at it. Or perhaps his third life, even. He doesn’t know how they got there, back in Wakanda, just knows that the world is new and free and  _ theirs _ .

 

He looks around at them, at the survivors. The entire Avengers team is here - once broken, now mended by cheap superglue and hanging by the thinnest of threads. Tony and Steve made up - so did Tony and Bucky, to an extent. Bucky had saved Stark’s life in the fight and gotten a grudging ‘thank you’ in return. Bucky counts that as a win, but it’s not exactly a grand proclamation, either. The gaping holes where Thor and Vision once lived now throb, longing to be filled, to strengthen the team again. And the hole where Steve will be opens up like a chasm underneath Bucky’s feet, just waiting to draw him into its depths.

 

The battle’s over. Thanos and his minions are gone, the world restored. Maybe, just maybe, Bucky can live a life of his own choosing, side-by-side with Steve and his friends, and help right some of the wrongs he’s done. Steve, the man with whom he’s been in love since the Dark Ages. Steve, the man whose shy smile and fumbling words when they’re alone tell him that he’s in love right back. But when Bucky looks at him now, there’s something in his eyes. Something unfathomable. Love, far beyond brotherly, but it’s tempered by sadness, by the knowledge of decisions that have to be made, or at the very least, one decision that will destroy Bucky if he lets it.

 

Of course. It’s just within his reach, and he  _ still  _ can’t have it. Why would life be that kind to him? It’s not like he deserves it, but he’d held out some hope that maybe… just maybe they could be together. 

 

They’re dazed, all of them, by the way that things have changed. The original Avengers team practically rewrote reality to rid the universe of Thanos’ rule; compared to that, to the fact that they’re even alive, all of this should seem insignificant, including his aching heart and Steve’s looming betrayal. But somehow it doesn’t. The truth hangs over them - he and Steve, at the very least, and Strange and Wanda can feel it, too. Maybe even Natasha, who is frighteningly insightful. 

 

The group mingles for a while, just happy to be alive. Those who had died, like him, turned to dust at the snap of a Titan’s fingers, marvel at the feeling even as they try to shake off the memory of their deaths. Bucky is alive thanks to the original team, but he can’t find it in himself to say ‘thank you.’ Not to Stark. Not to Steve. 

 

“There’s just one more thing to manage,” Strange eventually says, after a long while and yet still too soon, and Bucky closes his eyes. This is it, the moment he’s been dreading. He knew it was coming, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the way his heart races, his breath stutters, his stomach drops. Seventy years of forced self-control, and just those seven words have him teetering on the edge of panic. 

 

He looks to Steve, and Steve is staring right at him, asking without words  _ Are you going to be okay without me? _ Bucky looks away, unable to bear lying to Steve. Unable to bear telling him the truth, either. 

 

No, of course he’s not going to be okay without him. That’s not how love - at least not the kind he feels for Steve - that’s not how it works. But he’s gone without his best guy by his side for most of his life, and now he’ll have to face forward once more. He’s survived until now, and will continue to do so.

 

Doesn’t mean his heart isn’t breaking into a million fragments.

 

Strange speaks up then. “I only have the power to use this once. So you have to tell me now: yes or no.”

 

“Yes,” Steve whispers without hesitation, and those pieces of Bucky’s heart hit the floor and shatter into bits of nothing. It’s like dividing by zero.

 

“I’ll give you a few minutes to say your goodbyes.”

 

He walks to the Quinjet, leaving the group on the lawn. The long, impossibly green grass blows in the eastern breeze. Bucky kneels down and plucks a dandelion while Steve says his goodbyes to the rest of the team.

 

He refuses to meet Steve’s eyes when those strong arms pull him into a hug. It lasts a few seconds, hours, maybe a lifetime. Never long enough, no. And afterward, a pat on the shoulder: is there a point to saying goodbye? Bucky’s not sure.

 

But there is one thing, and despite his reticence, he owes it to Steve. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

Bucky’s voice is wrecked, hoarse and gritty, like he hasn’t spoken in weeks, but Steve doesn’t pay it any mind. And that’s the crux of the problem, right there; Steve’s _ never _ paid it any mind. Or maybe he really doesn’t know… but Bucky discards that idea quickly, because even Steve Rogers isn’t that much of a dolt. The entire universe knows how Bucky feels about him. And probably how Steve feels about Bucky, too.

 

Exhibit A: the Avengers currently making their way on quiet feet to the jet, carefully cultivating conversation and not looking back so as to give the two of them the goodbye they deserve. 

 

And then, right on its heels, Exhibit B: Rogers’ gorgeous blue eyes staring straight at the ground. Unable to meet his own. Apparently unable to tell Bucky the truth, either.

 

_ What about the end of the line, Steve? What about the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking? How do you think I move forward from here, because I sure as hell don’t know! _

 

“Goodbye, Steve,” is all he says, and he walks away from Steve’s frown, feeling like the worst friend in the history of friendship. He’s not even capable of being happy for his best guy, for the new life he’ll lead by his dame’s side. But Bucky Barnes has never been one to pretend to be somebody he’s not. He wouldn’t have pretended even before the war, the serum, the fall, and he’s sure as hell not going to do so now. 

 

Bucky climbs onto the jet without a second glance. When Strange boards behind him a few minutes later, he knows that Steve is gone.

 

And at this point, good riddance.


	2. Strangers in Your Head

The Avengers compound in upstate New York is quite nice. It’s a little too easy, too domestic for Bucky’s newfound tastes, of course - he misses his goats, for one thing - but that’s all right. He can learn to live with a little bit of luxury. Hell, he’s willing to live with a lot of things if it means Hydra never touches him again.

 

The team doesn’t trust him, and he doesn’t blame them, but he’s there, which has to mean something. Truthfully, the only thing Bucky can imagine doing is using his skills for good, paying for his sins in some meaningful way. There’s no reason to let his knowledge and capabilities go to waste, so he’s thankful that they seem to want him here anyway. Or perhaps it’s Fury or Danvers that does, and the others are just going along with it. Or Steve asked them to. Doesn’t matter. Results are results.

 

About three months into his stay, Bucky’s walking around in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else when Stark’s kid stops him in the hallway. Up ‘til now, they’ve been avoiding each other. He’s afraid that this might get ugly without Steve’s presence, but it turns out to be an unfounded worry.

 

“Hey, listen. You’re a hard man to catch, did you know that?” Tony asks.

 

“Maybe that’s by design,” Bucky responds, and it’s like knives are piercing his throat. Belatedly, he realizes it’s been weeks since he’s spoken at all, at least outside of the required therapy sessions; and even that had been a quick word to Natasha about training. So far, she’s the only one he’s trained with, which is perfectly fine by him. He also realizes that antagonizing anyone in the group - especially Stark, for Christ’s sake - might not be a great move. 

 

“Well, be that as it may, I wanted to invite you to breakfast. With the whole group, I mean. I promise we don’t bite.”

 

Bucky squints, not quite understanding. “Why would you want me at breakfast?”

 

“You’re a part of the Avengers now, whether either of us likes it or not. Everything’s been quiet, but that doesn’t mean some crazy shit won’t happen in the next five minutes, and we need to be able to work together as a team.”

 

_ Yes _ , says reality.

 

_ No _ , says Bucky’s heart.

 

“And you think having breakfast with the rest of you will help with that… how?”

 

“It’s a start, don’t you think?”

 

Bucky shakes his head and blows air through his nose, out-two-three-four. “Stark, how do you think I had a kill streak of one hundred percent prior to Steve?”

 

“Didn’t you have handlers?”

 

“They weren’t involved in the actual killing. You know this.”

 

Tony’s mouth turns grim, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“You all need to let me do my own work. Drop me off in the field and I’ll handle myself. Promise I won’t go rogue. Again. T’Challa took care of that.”

 

They both grimace at that. It hadn’t been pretty. Tony hadn’t even been there for it, not like Steve, but he’d still turned green at the gills when the gist of it was relayed to him.

 

Tony gives him a considering look, though. “I think you’ll be fine. You’re an asset - sorry, bad choice of words - to anyone who has you on their six. Steve certainly believed in you, and that means that I do, too, even after… well. After.”

 

And  _ that _ . That was the wrong thing for Stark to say. Bucky can see that Tony realizes it the instant it’s out of his mouth. Tony tries to call him back, but Bucky walks away in disgust. He doesn’t leave his suite for five whole days afterward.

 

No one talks about Steve in front of him.

 

_ No one. _

 

_ *** _

 

The Avengers’ next attempt at calling their resident assassin to heel is a little more subtle, but no less annoying for all that. He’s sparring with Natalia - Natasha, she calls herself now - when she casually brings up the group breakfast idea.

 

“Why are you insisting on this?”

 

Her eyes bore into him as she circles him, expression giving away nothing. Bucky feels like a germ underneath a microscope. He must be losing his touch if the Widow’s gaze is enough to make him nervous. 

 

“Stark already explained that to you, I think. He wasn’t lying, you know.”

 

He sighs heavily, the sigh of a blue-blooded Russian, then feints with the vibranium arm and twirls inward in the opposite direction, testing her. She steps back easily and doesn’t take the bait. 

 

“Never said I didn’t believe him.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

_ Because it’s what Steve would’ve wanted _ . “Nowhere else to go, really.”

 

“So you just plan to wander the halls until you get old, then go lie down and die?”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously not.”

 

“Then do something with yourself. Or leave. Don’t stay here in limbo like it’s supposed to be good for you.” Natasha allows a bit of her frustration to show with the slight downturn of her mouth, the subtle introduction of a guttural edge to her tone. Either that or she’s bluffing - always a possibility when it comes to her.

 

“I’m not in limbo. I just… “ he sighs again, not knowing how to explain this. Not wanting to explain it, knowing how very vulnerable he’s going to appear. Only an idiot willingly shows vulnerability to a Widow.

 

Her eyes widen with understanding anyway. “You’re moping!”

 

He lunges at her, catching her off guard. In less than a second, he’s got her pinned to the floor, serrated blade pressed against her pale throat. She’s not even breathing heavily, just calmly meets Bucky’s eyes like this is the most natural position for the two of them to be in. And he supposes it is; Nat is one hell of a fighter, but she can’t match him. The only person alive who could do so without gear is Steve. And he’s not alive anymore - or even if he is, he’s old as hell - so Bucky’s the most talented fighter, pound for pound, on Earth. The thought doesn’t bring him the kind of comfort it once would have.

 

There’s really no fight in him - hasn’t been since the last of their enemies flew into the sky and Thanos had finally disappeared for good, when Dr. Strange had held up the Infinity Stones and given the Avengers a meaningful look. 

 

It already feels like ages ago, like he’s grown old and tired in a matter of months. It’s pathetic, that’s for damn sure. 

 

“Leave it,” he hisses at her in Russian. “Give me time.”

 

She nods against the knife, almost imperceptibly. “I understand. But we’ll have words later,” she says to him in English.

 

The knife clatters to the training room floor and he stalks off. This time he doesn’t leave his room for ten days.

 

***

 

Interestingly, it’s Clint Barton that brings Bucky in from the cold. 

 

Bucky’s climbing through the maintenance shaft and crawling into the duct space when he happens upon a nest. It’s full of candy and there’s a makeshift toilet, of all things - fucking Clint.

 

The man himself shows up ten minutes later, seeming unsurprised to see the Winter Soldier sitting in his nest. “Whatcha doin’ there, buddy?” Clint asks, completely unperturbed, while biting into a cinnamon stick. Flecks of spice drift down and settle onto the spread-out comforter. It’s a wonder they don’t have ants.

 

“How do you not have bugs up here?”

 

Clint blinks. “Stark?”

 

“Stark,” Bucky repeats flatly.

 

“Yeah. High-grade pest control. I think he lectured me. Don’t really remember. We had pizza at the time,” he adds, as though that explains his forgetfulness.

 

“I see.”

 

“Yeah. So. Would it be asking too much for me to sit next to you? There’s plenty of space.”

 

Bucky’s not quite sure what to do with this guy, so he just nods dumbly. Clint settles in close, making Bucky feel a bit uncomfortable, but apparently being this close to the world’s deadliest assassin is just another Wednesday morning for Clint Barton. 

 

The cinnamon stick disappears faster than Bucky had thought possible. Clint pulls another from the depths of his jacket pocket and goes to town on that one, too. Bucky eyes the man’s muscles, wondering how in the hell he stays in shape with a diet that appears to consist of candy and pizza. And beer - he doesn’t see the Avengers often, but when he does, Barton usually has a beer in his hand. Clint’s involved in some kind of secret training, Bucky knows that much, but this is still too much, even for a man in tip-top shape.

 

Bucky shakes his head to clear it. “Why do you live up here?”

 

“Huh? Why not?”

 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Well then let me ask - why are  _ you _ up here?”

 

Bucky stares for a moment, then raises his arm as if it should be obvious. “Privacy.”

 

“Well, there’s your answer. Although I was going more for something along the lines of ‘line of sight.’”

 

Bucky grunts in acknowledgement. “That goes without saying,” he says with a grim set to his mouth.

 

“Then why question me like it doesn’t make sense?”

 

_ Because you don’t seem the type _ , he wants to reply.

 

“Unexpected,” he goes with instead. 

 

“Buddy, you got a lot to learn about us. All of us. We’re not one big happy family - we’re all pretty messed-up in our own ways. I think that’s a consequence - or maybe cause, I don’t know - of being what we are.”

 

“And what are you?”

 

“Heroes,” Clint replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Heroes. He and Steve used to play heroes when they were small. He remembers an alley, close to where Steve had nearly gotten himself killed fighting one of the mafiosa, where they used to go with their little figurines and play-fight. It would often lead to roughhousing, though Bucky never gave it his all. Steve knew, and he hated it, but he knew there was no way Bucky would go hard on him. It was an unspoken rule, and one on which he refused to compromise. He also never would’ve told him, but Steve was the only hero that had ever mattered to him.

 

“You just say it like it’s that easy.”

 

“Well, ain’t it?”

 

Bucky looks away. “I wouldn’t know.”

 

He sees Clint shrug out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know how much of your memory you’ve got back. My understanding is, it’s quite a bit, more than the docs ever thought you would. But I’m pretty sure you do know. It’s why you’re one of the most celebrated heroes of World War II. It’s why the United States was so quick to exonerate you, and Steve, too.”

 

Bucky winces when Clint mentions that name, but doesn’t let it under his skin this time. The archer has a point, even if it’s not one that Bucky particularly wishes to acknowledge. 

 

“I remember enough,” he says grudgingly.

 

“You did what needed to be done. It’s what we all do. And I guarantee you’ll get the hang of it again if you try.”

 

“Are you trying to get me to do team breakfast?” Bucky asks him suspiciously.

 

“Do I look like I’m all about team breakfast?” Clint responds, and Bucky startles them both with a bark of laughter. 

 

“Alright,” he nods decisively. “I’ll try team breakfast. Once. But only if you’re there.”

 

Clint turns to face him, what’s left of the cinnamon stick dangling from one corner of his mouth like a cigar. 

 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

***

 

Breakfast goes surprisingly well. Considering that he hasn’t let the team within arm’s reach, with the exception of Natasha, they’re fairly hesitant around him at first. But they quickly welcome him with... not quite open arms, but at least something resembling compassion, letting him know that he truly is welcome. He hates to admit it, but it makes his heart feel a little warmer for all that.

 

And there’s curiosity, of course. Lots of it. Technically, Stark knows most of what Bucky’s been up to, since Bucky hasn’t bothered to remove all the bugs in his suite - he’s beyond that kind of paranoia now, simply accepting that it’s going to happen and knowing he can fix it if he needs to. But the entire team approaches him at various points and asks him questions -  about what he’s been doing, about how he’s adjusting, and the like. Bucky thinks it’s silly. Obviously, if he were actually ‘adjusting,’ he’d be an official part of the team by now.  _ Adjusting  _ is not the right word to describe his activities.  _ Moping _ might cut it, but there’s no way in hell he’s gonna admit that. Not to these people. Not even to Natasha, even though she already knows. 

 

“Hey, Bucky… do you mind if I call you that?” Sam asks, and dammit, Bucky just can’t hate Sam like he wants to. The guy’s too damn nice for his own good, especially now that Steve’s gone. There’s no passive-aggressive banter between them now; there’s not even playful banter. It’s all concern and earnestness - how he would imagine Steve Rogers’ own pupil - and Bucky just can’t find it in himself to be upset with him.

 

“Uh, yeah. Why not.”

 

“Well… “ Sam looks uncomfortable for a minute, and Bucky feels bad.  _ Because you’ve changed, because I didn’t know if you’d want to be called what you were before, because you’re clearly not what you used to be.  _

 

_ Because of Steve. _

 

He clears his throat. “It’s okay, I get it.”

 

Relief washes over Sam’s handsome features. “Okay. Good. I was just wonderin’ if you wanted to do some training with me. I think I could learn a lot from you. Hell, the whole team could.”

 

“And you want to be able to put me down if I go full ‘Winter Soldier’ again.”

 

Sam balks at that. “Nah, man, that’s not at all-”

 

“It’s a joke. Sort of.” Bucky attempts to smile at him. It probably looks more like a grimace.

 

Sam clearly doesn’t know what to make of this whole exchange. God, it’s awkward without Steve around. “Okay… so, are we on then?”

 

_ Why the hell not? _

 

“Yeah, sure. Nat and I are usually in the gym before breakfast. I can get there a bit earlier if you like.” Sam’s good, but he’s likely not good enough for him to break a sweat. Sort of like a warm-up for Natasha.

 

“You’re on.”

 

Neither of them mention Sam’s morning runs, or how he used to do them with Steve. No one mentions Steve at all, in fact. Probably a good thing, considering how he acts any time the name is mentioned; Bucky’s worked hard to avoid invalidating his own feelings - a side effect of therapy - but he feels like a petulant child all the same. At some point, the elephant in the room will have to be addressed. If he does start hanging out with these people, he wants them to be able to mention Steve’s name freely. Hell, _ he _ wants to be able to mention it, wants to be able to think of his best friend without bitterness. 

 

He’s gonna need a lot more therapy before that can happen, though.

 

It’s a great breakfast, really, but it quickly becomes overwhelming. Once everyone’s come by and made sure he’s… what, stable? Stable enough to be part of the Avengers? He thinks it’s that … Bucky needs to get away. It’ll be another few days before he can even consider doing this again. 

 

“Hey, guys. I’m gonna take off.”

 

Sam eyes him hopefully. “You’re comin’ back some day, right? It’s been nice havin’ ya.”

 

Bucky’s not sure that’s the right word for it, either, but he gives a friendly nod and tries on another smile. This time, it feels like plastic. 

 

“Yeah, sure. Just… give me time, alright?”

 

“Yeah, man, we get it.”

 

_ You really don’t, but thanks for trying _ .

 

He leaves, feeling decently about the prospect of working with these people.

 

Friendship, though… that’s another thing entirely.

 

***

 

His therapist disagrees. 

 

“I think it’s wonderful that you were able to have breakfast with the group. That’s a huge step in the right direction, Sergeant Barnes. Eventually, you will be able to see that, and move even further.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Sergeant Barnes, indeed. He’d tried to get the woman to drop that moniker several times, but it seems to have stuck. 

 

“I think I can see where things stand just fine, thank you.”

 

She nods; the woman has the patience of a saint, particularly when Bucky is acting surly. “I’d never want to tell you that your perspective is the wrong one. But just remember where you were when you came to me three months ago. You said five words to me that first session, and that was a mandatory session. Now you’re sharing meals with the same people that you once fought against over your very freedom.”

 

This is getting into dangerous territory. He definitely doesn’t want to talk about that, isn’t ready for it. “It was one meal.”

 

“But you’ve made it clear that you intend to go back.”

 

He sighs. Might as well concede the point. “Yeah. I’m going to.”

 

“It’s cause for celebration, Sergeant Barnes. It’s all about taking one step at a time, and you’ve taken this big one all on your own. I’m proud of you.”

 

He hates how his chest puffs out when she says that - this woman, this nobody doctor whose opinion seems to actually matter to him. Suddenly, Bucky feels like spending a few days in the woods outside the compound. He’s definitely going soft. 

 

“I think Steve would be proud of you, too,” the therapist says gently, and  _ oh _ , yes, he’s spending three days in a literal fucking  _ tree _ after this bullshit. 

 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

 

“We’ll come back to that another time. For now, I think a little bit of time alone would be good for you. Don’t you agree, Sergeant Barnes?”

 

“Stop calling me that.”

 

She chuckles. “Sorry, force of habit. It’s your name and rank, after all, and we both know what happened when I attempted to call you James.”

 

He groans. “Sergeant Barnes is fine.”

 

She looks at him with white teeth bared in a smirk. “I rather thought so.”

 

‘Bucky’ is off limits. He’s surprised he even allows it with Sam and Nat. But it’s just those two. 

 

The truth is, he isn’t Bucky Barnes any longer. 

 

He’s just not sure what he  _ is. _

 

***

 

Nat finds him in the damn tree a day later.

 

“Jesus wept, Barnes, you smell like a pigeon.”

 

“You do realize I’m in a tree, right? Kinda fits.”

 

She gives him an unimpressed look. “Even Clint manages to have better hygiene when he’s out in the field.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t given the tools to keep myself clean while on an op, Romanov. It wasn’t exactly a priority. In fact, freezing hose-downs are all I had for about, oh, I dunno, seventy-some odd years.”

 

She winces, and still manages to look stunning. “Sorry. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

 

He waves it away. “It’s alright. But is there something I can help you with? Kinda wanted to get a little distance.”

 

“I know, and I think it’s the wrong move.”

 

“Not up to you, though, Romanov.”

 

“Never said it was. But you’ve gotta get over this.”

 

Annoyance flares briefly, before being quashed by a sense of… what, resignation? Something tiring, anyway.

 

“Why does it even matter to you?”

 

She sighs, deep, and lets out a curse word in Russian. Like knows like. “Maybe I feel responsible for you, to some extent.”

 

He stares into the distance. “Did he tell you to watch out for me?”

 

“Does it matter?” she shoots back, and he knows he was right. 

 

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

 

“Either way, Barnes. I’m not your handler, and I don’t want to be. But I also know that Steve wouldn’t want you to be like this. Nor do I.”

 

Is it possible that this little Widow actually cares for him? Unlikely, but possible. He files that away for later. For when he’s in the mood to think, not stare blankly in the silence of the woods and forget his life for a while.

 

“Again, might I remind you, it doesn’t matter what you want.”

 

“Don’t try to pretend like you’re some kind of sociopath. I know you’re not. Steve knew, too.”

 

He grits his teeth against the name. “Stop. Just stop.”

 

“I won’t. I’m determined to see you part of the team. A real part. You deserve better than what you’ve gotten out of life, and you can do better, too.”

 

“You sound like my therapist,” he says bitterly.

 

“Well, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

 

“You had SHIELD therapists, too. Are they really all shouting the same platitudes?”

 

“There’s a reason they shout them, Barnes.”

 

He doesn’t want to admit that she’s right. He doesn’t want to be a part of the team. He doesn’t want… 

 

He doesn’t want anything except the one thing he can’t have now.

 

_ Steve. _

 

“I wish it were that easy,” he sighs.

 

“It’s not, I know,” the Widow acknowledges, and he hears the truth in her words. Maybe he’s being unfair to her; she came in from the cold once, too. “But you can get there. And just know that I’m here to help if you want to try. But you’ve got to want to. It isn’t up to me.”

 

He scoffs. “So I’ve been telling you.”

 

They sit in companionable silence for awhile. Eventually, she jumps down, graceful and deadly. He doesn’t know if he can do it, but… doesn’t he owe it to himself to try?

 

Doesn’t he owe it to  _ Steve _ to try?

 

Bucky feels like screaming in frustration. 

 

He takes a nap instead.


	3. As if you don't remember

 

 

Three weeks after his first breakfast - and the incident with the tree, of course - Bucky’s been to two more meals and an Avengers’ meeting, plus daily sparring with Sam and one group training exercise. He still feels like an outcast, but he figures that’s to be expected. None of these people have body counts approaching a hundred. Unless he were to count Natasha. Or Stark’s weapons program. Which he doesn’t, mostly because he’s a tenacious brat.

 

Seems like there are some things he learned from Steve.

 

Regardless, he’s feeling considerably better about the possibility of being part of the team. Eventually. They’re getting along - even Tony Stark and him, which is a surprise. So of course, Natasha approaches him about a private meeting at his fourth official team breakfast. Secrets don’t keep themselves, after all.

 

“Hey, I need to talk to you in private.”

 

“You couldn’t have asked me while you were kicking me in the nuts this morning?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t feel the least bit sorry for you.”

 

“Your point, Romanova?”

 

Instead of answering, she signals - an old signal, one he’d forgotten that he knew. _Ears everywhere_ . He raises his eyebrows but signals back _message received._

 

“So… my old hiding spot, then?”

 

She chuckles. “Long as you don’t mind me crashin’ your little party out there.”

 

“Excuse me, I don’t nest like someone else we both know.”

 

“No, you go full native.”

 

“Meet me at 1300.”

 

“You got it, Sarge.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s-” he starts, but Natasha’s gone, disappeared like the assassin she will always be. He can’t help the small smile that crosses his face.

  


***

 

Bucky’s tree is deep in the forest surrounding the compound. It’s a sweet-smelling old pine tree with branches starting a good twelve feet off the ground, and it takes considerable athletic skill to climb. On top of that, most people wouldn’t be able to tell up from down from this location, but Bucky isn’t most people. Neither is Natasha, which is part of why they get along so well.

 

It turns out all that training he received in the field (that Natasha had never gotten) had paid off: he notices that Tony is following her, and that’s a damn strange thing. First off, that he’d do such a thing, and second, that Nat didn’t notice, though it’s possible she did and is planning to throw Stark off her trail somehow.

 

He frowns, scratching his day-old stubble, and decides that Stark is potentially more dangerous than he’d thought. It seems that even without the suit, the man has some tricks up his sleeve. Hopefully, he didn’t catch any of their conversation this morning. Bad enough that he knows that Natasha is up to something. Assuming he does know. Assuming Nat _is_ up to something - he chuckles lightly and dismisses that notion; of course she’s up to something. She always is.

 

But he just doesn’t have enough information to make an informed decision, so it’s best to warn Natasha, even if she does know.

 

Bucky clears his throat and ululates, mimicking the birdsong that meant _danger, abort_ _mission_. He prays to a god he no longer believes in that she gets the message. Nat’s close enough that he can see her emerald eyes flash upward toward his spot. None of it should be obvious to an outsider, but he knows she got the message. She signs _later_ with a stretch and a yawn and passes his tree easily, pretending to go for a walk.

 

If Stark is involved in Natasha’s pet project, which he’s starting to suspect is the case, they’re really in a pickle. The systems at the compound are all Stark tech, protected by FRIDAY. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky and/or Nat ever decided to shut down the surveillance to their rooms in any other circumstance, but he might be suspicious of _something_ , especially given the fact that he’d followed Nat out here. Bucky’s got the know-how to kill the bugs in his room, but in order to get it past Stark, it’d require manufacturing a ‘technical malfunction’ in FRIDAY’s systems to get the privacy they’d need without alerting her creator, and he simply doesn’t have that skillset. Maybe Natasha does, but maybe not.

 

They’ll have to figure something else out.

 

***

 

At breakfast, when he suggests such a thing in sign language, Natasha scoffs out loud and everyone looks at her. She pretends to have something stuck in her throat; Bucky wants to laugh.

 

 _Please_ . _I’m a professional_ , she signs back in their little version of Red Room sign language.

 

_So you can get into his suite without alerting FRIDAY?_

 

_Of course. Limited window of time but it won’t be a problem._

 

He’s relieved. _I hope there’s nothing strange going on, but if there is, we need to know about it._

 

_Maybe he’s sick or something? Maybe he caught something from the Chitauri or Thanos’ other creatures?_

 

_I have no idea. I don’t know the man that well. He’s been more accepting of me than I deserve, though._

 

She frowns. _Don’t think like that._

 

_I’m serious, though. Not in a judgmental way. Like in an ‘our relationship is moving unnaturally fast’ kind of way._

 

Natasha looks out the window pensively, moving to sit in a chair at the opposite end of the room. Whatever’s up with Stark, it’s got her troubled, that’s for sure. And that has _him_ troubled in return - he wouldn’t know what’s what when it comes to Stark, but she’s spent years with him by now. Something is fishy, and Bucky wishes, not for the first time and not for the last, that Steve hadn’t left.

 

He puts down his breakfast, no longer hungry, and leaves the room without saying goodbye to anyone. But he feels someone’s eyes on his back as he walks out. And there’s something in his pocket.

 

A burner phone. Nat must’ve slipped it in during their conversation. He is _definitely_ losing his touch.

 

Yeah, whatever this is, he has the feeling it’s going to be bad.

 

***

A few days go by. He spends a lot of time in his hideout. Nat might not be able to sneak out without alerting Stark somehow, but without infrared, Stark won’t know where he goes and Bucky’s pretty sure Stark’s not _that_ paranoid. Besides, in an urban environment, he’s damn stealthy, but in the woods, he’s nigh untrackable, not to mention that he’d know if he was being followed. It’s just worrisome because neither of them have the faintest idea what’s actually going on with Tony.

 

The strangest thing about it is that Bucky finds himself actually caring, and not just in a way that assagues his guilt. He actually cares about Steve’s friends, even if it’s just _because_ they’re Steve’s friends. For all his flaws, Stark isn’t a bad kid. He’s the product of his environment plus a truckload of anxiety and PTSD. Even when Tony had ripped off his arm in Siberia, Bucky hadn’t had it in him to hate the man. Hell, he’d hate himself, too - had, in fact, hated himself for a long time after. He might still, if it hadn’t been for Shuri’s friendship and Steve’s support. And the goat-herding, of course. He longs for the simplicity of it.

 

The burner beeps on the third day, a text message.

 

_Found something. Writing of some sort. No idea what it is - going to Strange. Talked to Fury about going out alone, he ok’d it. Will let you know as soon as I know something. Lay low._

 

_You sure Tony doesn’t know?_

 

_Sure. I disabled your room, too. Pretend to feel a little paranoid without me around. There’s another burner phone under your pillow._

 

He turns the thing off. _Pretending probably won’t be an issue,_ he thinks sourly. Nat really has become a friend, and Bucky’s not sure if he should feel happy or frightened by that fact. It is what it is, though. Steve certainly wouldn’t want him to feel uncomfortable becoming friends with the Avengers… but then again, Steve isn’t here. That’s the whole problem.

 

Well, okay, it’s far from the whole problem. But it’s the crux of it. Bucky Barnes making friends in the twenty-first century without his best friend feels like stepping through glass (and Bucky has a vague memory of being forced to do just that, so he would know).

 

Maybe he’ll go see Clint. If anyone can cheer him up without Natalia around, it’s him.

 

***

 

Three weeks later, Bucky’s going crazy. He spends hours of every day pacing his suite, hours running in the crisp fall air like he’s Steve Rogers reincarnated. It’s because of Natasha - because she’s gone, because he hasn’t heard a word from her and doesn’t want to waste the burner for no answer. Because he’s quietly stewing and has regressed in his social interaction. Clint is the only reason he leaves his room anymore; he’s even stopped training with Sam, who looks at him with the same sad eyes Steve always used to use. Bucky refuses to fall for it again. He _refuses._

 

He’s thinking of doing the stupid thing. He knows it’s the stupid thing, but he’s thinking about it nonetheless. It’s Steve-level crazy in its own way, and Bucky wonders if he needed the big lug around just for that sense of danger in his life, even though Steve’s recklessness had driven Bucky to drink sometimes.

 

He snorts. Seems like he’s gonna drive _himself_ to drink pretty soon, much good it’ll do him.

 

Nat had taught him how to disable FRIDAY’s systems in Stark’s corner of the compound for long enough to snoop around. Of course, this time FRIDAY may have better safeguards against the ‘technical malfunction’ she theoretically had, but Bucky’s gotta do _something_. There’s only so many days he can run ten miles at breakneck speed.

 

Tony is nowhere to be found, thank heavens, so Bucky enters his suite as stealthily as possible. He looks at what he had first assumed was a drawer full of records, but had turned out to be full of sex toys instead - that was a fun discovery. Natasha, professional as ever, didn’t even crack a smile, but Bucky knew she had been delighted, especially considering what they’d found. It seems unlikely that anything else would be kept hidden in that drawer, at least, so he’s happy not to repeat the performance.

 

There isn’t any new mail on Stark’s desk, but one thing does catch his eye - a datapad of some sort. Stark tech, of course. He wishes he had Nat’s hacking skills, but that’s a laughable idea to even entertain. Bucky’s an assassin, not a spy. The pad is new, though, and might have something on it. Bucky can’t exactly steal it, but he files the information away for later use, in case Nat comes back empty-handed.

 

His enhanced hearing helps him recognize the sound of Tony entering the pin to his personal suite, and he has approximately three seconds to hide. Damn good thing he’s not Steve’s size, or he’d have been caught. He gives a silent thank-you to whatever gods might exist that his serum doesn’t work the way Steve’s did. As it is, he hopes to any divine being that might be listening that Stark doesn’t need to get under his bed for anything.

 

Tony putts around for some time, seemingly happy to simply relax, which is odd in itself, considering Tony usually seems to get one hour of sleep a night if he’s lucky. Three’s probably a more fair number, but it certainly only _seems_ like one. He has a tendency to go until he passes out. Bucky purses his lips, wondering when he’ll get the chance to get the hell out of this wing and in a safe place to ponder that mystery. Then Stark’s phone rings, playing that annoying classic rock song the man’s so fond of.

 

“Hello.”

 

Bucky strains to hear what the caller is saying.

 

“... this… today or maybe… we can do that?”

 

“Yeah, I think we can manage. Are you ready in New York?”

 

“... London. But then we… or something... “

 

“Right. Well, we’ll start with New York. The Sanctums aren’t clear, though, so you’ll have to handle London on your own. I’m not risking it.”

 

“That’s… be ready. The Avengers… okay?”

 

Bucky wants to tear his hair out, wishing to hell and back that he could hear the entire conversation.

 

“Go time, then. Let me sound the alarm.”

 

“... bye.”

 

Tony hangs up and sits quietly for a moment, and then the alarm to assemble rings throughout the compound. So he meant to assemble the team. Bucky’s not sure what for, but it’s gonna require some care just in case it’s a trap. That phone conversation did not sound like an emergency. He supposes he could always confront the man, but if he did that, he’d have to be ready to kill Tony, and two Starks dead by his hand are more than enough for a lifetime.

 

Then Stark climbs off the bed, and what Bucky sees from his limited vantage point under the bed will give him nightmares for the rest of his too-long life.

 

Stark has turned into something inhuman. Hulk-green with dry, lightly scaled skin, wicked-looking talons in place of fingernails, face like a carnival freak… he looks sort of like a zombie goblin, which should strike him as funny except for the fact that whatever it is, it’s infiltrated the Avengers themselves. The thing moves funny, too, from the little Bucky can see, all sinuous like an unearthly creature, and that’s what he - it? - must be. Another kind of alien. A shapeshifter. Just what they need.

 

Well, it would’ve been unfair to assume that Thanos was the only demon out there gunning for Earth. At least they’ve had some time for peace, and Bucky’s had time to heal. He wouldn’t want to face this alone.

 

And speaking of alone - now comes the question of how he communicates this to the others. Stark - the thing that might once have been Stark, anyway - has surveillance everywhere; hell, FRIDAY might be back online here in Stark’s suite at any time, and that would likely be disastrous for Bucky. He’s gotta get out _now_.

 

The creature changes in front of his eyes, morphs back into Tony Stark. It checks itself in the mirror, as if to make sure it’s got the look down pat, then hurries to leave the suite. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief and slides out from under the bed. He’ll need to figure something out, and quick - he’ll be expected on the Quinjet shortly, and there is no way he’s getting in with that thing acting as their leader. There’s no way this isn’t a trap, and Bucky is not going to fall into it.

 

So he runs out to the woods as fast as he possibly can and calls Natasha.

 

“Barnes. I found something.”

 

“Yeah, me too. Stark’s arranged an emergency, but he’s not Stark. He’s a-”

 

“Alien, yeah. I know. I’ll give you more information when you reach me. If he’s called a fake emergency, we need to make ourselves scarce. I’ve got access to a lot of old SHIELD safehouses that should be protected, but he can probably access that stuff, too. You can head to the New York Sanctum-”

 

“No. He’s going there, I think. It was mentioned in the phone call. They’ll be headed to New York.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Tell me about it. How about Hydra? If I don’t think about it and close my eyes, I can vaguely recall where a couple of safehouses are, or were, that they’d programmed into me in case shit went sideways.”

 

“‘Programmed’ is an ugly word, and we’re gonna talk about that later, but it’ll do. Think about it and text me the location as soon as you can. Strange will get me there. Be safe.”

 

He rolls his eyes at her words and the affection in them. What business the woman has throwing her lot in with him, he’ll never understand, but it’s the closest to friendship he’s got in this century, and that’s important.

 

***

 

_“Hey, thanks for stepping in and saving me.”_

 

_Bucky had scoffed. “You just thanked me? Do you have a fever or something?”_

 

_Steve’s face had gone red and he’d scowled, and Bucky’d thought he was the most beautiful thing on the face of the planet. “I’m tryin’ to be grateful here, Barnes.”_

 

_“I’m sorry. It’s just… why? Why now? Usually you resent me when I step in and save your punk ass.”_

 

_Steve’s face had fallen suddenly; Bucky wanted to go to him but wasn’t sure he’d be welcome. “Well, mom’s gone now. And I’m a huge pain in the ass, like you say. And you’re my only friend. I don’t know why you are, why you put up with the likes of me, but I owe you a lot.”_

 

_He’d laughed like a jackass, not knowing what else to say, how to deal with Steve’s sudden sincerity. “Yeah, literally. Sell some art once in awhile, would ya?”_

 

_Steve had given him that half-smile, the one that made his knees weak. “I’m gonna pull my weight, I promise. I just need some time. And you. My only friend.”_

 

_Steve had cried then, and Bucky’s heart broke for him, not for the first time. He’d pulled Steve into his arms; men were expected not to cry back then, so Steve had resisted, but Bucky didn’t let him go. Eventually, Steve broke down completely and let Bucky hold him through it._

  


He shakes his head to clear it of the memory. This is not the time for old memories, for old joys and new sorrows to raise their heads. He’s gotta make it out of the compound before Stark realizes that he knows something’s up. Thankfully, he knows just where Steve’s old motorcycle can be found.

 

It was surprising when Bucky discovered it, before, back when he was on the run from Hydra after the Triskelion, that Steve has - _had_ \- a paranoid spot, too. He’d been spying on the man, trying to get his memories back, when he’d found Steve at the compound, along with the stashed motorcycle located outside of the complex. And he’d found the key, too, since Steve has - _had_ , dammit - always been so predictable.

 

He sprints for the edge of the compound, unsure of how much danger he’s in, but sure that it grows by the second. The motorcycle is just where Steve had left it; Bucky guns the motor and is off like a bat out of hell. At the first gas station, he surreptitiously steals an employee’s jacket to hide his arm, fuels up, and texts Natasha. The place he’s thinking of is in New Hampshire, just west off 95 and south of Portsmouth.

 

The countryside is lovely; any time Bucky’d gone through here as the Asset, he hadn’t exactly had the time or inclination to appreciate it. But now he can, and the sights and smells of New York in fall give him a feeling that he’s not used to, one that takes a few moments to identify.

 

 _Joy._ Despite seventy years under Hydra’s control, despite Steve’s absence, despite the world going to hell yet again, he’s still capable of feeling joy. Bucky takes a moment to thank his lucky stars - he doesn’t believe in God, not anymore, never had quite like his sweet Stevie did, but in this moment, all day today, he’s thought there must be _something_ out there. His cynical side suggests that maybe it’s just setting him up, but he’s not going to listen. Not right now. Not ever again, if he can help it.

 

Being alive is a good thing, as his therapist (and Steve) had tried to drill into his head. Now he’s starting to believe it.

 

***

 

The safehouse is a tiny cottage out in the middle of the woods. It doesn’t even have electricity, just a wood-fired oven and fireplace. Nat’s already there - somehow - when he arrives. She’s dressed to the nines in a white shirt, black skirt and pencil-thin heels. He raises an eyebrow at her but says nothing, and she doesn’t offer anything in return. Bucky uses the axe Hydra had so kindly supplied them with to chop down some branches; he chooses a spot a ways into the forest to take a deep breath. It’s even colder here than it is in New York, and the air in front of him fogs.

 

Fuck winter. Fuck everything about winter.

 

 _It’s not even winter, you mook,_ his mind whispers, but fuck his mind, too.

 

It’s chilly as hell in the cabin, too, but it doesn’t take long for it to warm up, thank goodness. Nat cooks them dinner, if it can be called that, from the limited stores in the attic. They won’t be able to stay here long; it was meant as a temporary home for agents who were desperate. But where else can they go? Tony - whatever Tony is now - will be looking for him. For them, once they realize that Nat is officially incommunicado.

 

The canned soup and nuts constitute a too-small but delicious meal, which they eat on the floor of the tiny one-room house. They share a companionable silence, but Bucky gets the feeling that there’s an elephant in the room, one that he can’t see.

 

“Out with it,” he eventually says.

 

Natasha sighs. “We only have one bed. Not even a couch to speak of. Just… that thing.” She waves to the double bed in the corner.

 

He stares at it and then stares at her, then carefully swallows his soup. “So?”

 

“We can’t both fit on that thing.”

 

Now he’s really confused. “Aren’t you supposed to be a spy or something?”

 

“Being a spy doesn’t usually mean I sleep all scrunched up. On the ground, in the woods, sure.”

 

“Well, if you like the hard ground so much, why don’t you sleep on the floor?”

 

She purses her lips. “Because it’s comfortable in the bed.”

 

He shakes his head, surprised. “And here I thought you were above creature comforts.”

 

“Well, maybe I’ve gone soft since I left.”

 

He can’t say much about that without seeming a hypocrite. “Maybe you have.” He pauses. “Wait a second… are you trying to get me into bed?”

 

Nat smiles at him, amused. “You wish, Barnes.”

 

“Hey, maybe I do,” he jokes. “You ain’t exactly hard on the eyes, Romanova.”

 

“I’m aware. But I’m hardly your type.”

 

Damn. That was a low blow, and she knows it. His mouth tightens into a grim line. “That was unfair.”

 

She shrugs, refusing to back down. “You’ve got to get over him.”

 

“What do you think I’m trying to do? Haven’t I been… normal… ish? I mean, what do you expect from me here?”

 

She sighs. “I don’t really know. I miss him, too. Not like you do; I could never imagine what that’s like. You’ve been in love for nearly ninety years, and he left.” _Fuck_ , it hurts when she says it like that. “But Bruce left me, too. Even now that he’s back, it’s just not the same. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

 

He feels for her. More than he’d like to, that’s for sure. But she’s almost all he has in this world now, and that protective nature he’d always had, that urge to watch over those who were most precious to him - probably out of fear of losing them - it’s still there. He doesn’t want to lose the little he has, not that Bucky would ever admit that he thinks of Natalia as a possession of sorts. Not if he wants to live to see tomorrow.

 

“Sleep with me,” he says suddenly. Her eyebrows climb her forehead in hilarious fashion. Hell, Bucky’s never seen her emote half that much. “I don’t mean like that. Just stay warm with me tonight. It’s too goddamn cold.” _In more ways than one._

 

Her face softens just a little bit. “And let you squish me?”

 

“Please?”

 

She breathes deeply. “Alright. Yes. But no funny business, James Barnes. Do you hear me?”

 

He puts his hands up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

***

 

The next morning dawns frozen and still. They don’t talk much, but neither of them are particularly prone to chatting anyway. Bucky gulps down a bottle of water and then sits back on the bed, watching Nat as she makes them breakfast.

“What do you wanna do about this?”

 

“I figured you’d have a plan already, to be honest.”

 

“I was never one for the planning of operations, if you catch my drift.”

 

She makes a face. “Yeah, I get you. It’s my thing. Or, well… someone else’s. But he’s not here, so we have to make do.”

 

He doesn’t mention _that_ elephant. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

 

“I’m not him, Barnes. I’m not serum-enhanced.”

 

“No, but you’re trained. And you’re damn smart.”

 

“I just don’t know if we have the capability. They have the other Avengers. They have an army. There’s only two of us.”

 

Shit. “An army?”

 

“Yeah. They’re infiltrators first and foremost, but eventually they’ll be here in spades. We need to stop that from happening, which means we’ll have to look at world leaders, anyone acting funny that might be powerful enough to open an interdimensional gateway. If we can figure that out, then you can step in and… do your thing.”

 

“What about Strange?”

 

“I’m not sure,” she hedges. “He’s magic, but he’s not invincible. If he interferes, they could go after him, too. In fact, I’m sure he’s fighting his own battles with them.”

 

“He’s gotta help.”

 

“How am I supposed to get in touch with him? I don’t think we can go to the Sanctum; you said so yourself. That’s how I got through.”

 

“No burner?”

 

“‘He doesn’t need one.’” Nat’s face is sour. “No. But maybe… maybe Xavier can help. If they’re shapeshifters, they won’t be able to hide from psychics. I hope.”

 

Bucky considers the idea. He’s not keen on the idea of trusting anyone else, but what other choices do they have? They need help. “Yeah. It’s a good place to start. I don’t know what’s going on in New York, but I’m worried about the others. It honestly sounded like a trap set just for us.”

 

“Well, we escaped it. Maybe some of the others did, too.”

 

“Yeah. Maybe.” He’s not convinced. “You got a car?”

 

Nat scoffs. “Like I can’t hotwire a car in two seconds, Barnes.”

 

“... in the middle of the woods?”

 

“Motorcycle to town, then we switch to a car.” She gives him a look like he’s a complete and utter dolt.

 

“I didn’t think the lady would want to ride on a motorcycle.”

 

“Just because I’m not a man?”

 

“I’m a man, and I don’t exactly like motorcycles.” She gives him a questioning look. “Bad memories,” he explains.

 

The room’s quiet for a moment as more pain sinks in; it’s been a few years since the fight between the Avengers, but there’s a lot of guilt left there. Maybe Steve wouldn’t have left if Bucky hadn’t created a rift between them. Now he’ll never know.

 

“Yeah, well.” He sighs. “Let’s go.”

 

“Lead the way,” Nat says, wisely keeping quiet on the subject.


	4. As if you can forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yes, this is the part of the fic where canon diverges just a tad. I needed a safe place for the team to go that was not Wakanda (for reasons) and Professor X popped into mind. Actually, it technically came to the minds of my friends and my partner who came to the rescue.

 

 

 

 

The trip to New York is quiet, both passenger and driver pensive. Bucky’s not sure what’s on Natasha’s mind, but he’s not going to ask; he’s fighting his own demons and has no time to spare for hers. Case one: Steve’s motorcycle, left stashed in the woods in the middle of nowhere. There’s some part of him that feels guilty for that, which is stupid. Steve’s gone, and he’s not coming back. No amount of wishing otherwise will fix that. He should be angry toward Steve, toward the damn bike itself. But he’s finding it harder to hold onto that anger now. What’s left instead is sorrow and bone-deep weariness.

 

Case two, and he suspects this is one that Natasha’s brooding over as well: they’re about to meet Charles Xavier, a man who could easily read their deepest, darkest secrets. Who could rewrite them in his own way if he thought it for the best. The only thing that stops him from being utterly terrified of that is his belief that Xavier is a good man; if he sees something too dark in Bucky’s future, maybe it’s better to be rewritten. Maybe it’s better not to remember where he came from, too. Bucky considers that for a second; on balance, he doesn’t want to forget. For better or worse, it’s his story.

 

A story the man can read and judge and rewrite at the drop of a dime.

 

He tries to keep his mind on the road ahead of him, on what they’ll tell Xavier, on what they’ll find in New York. The radio is all over it - fighting in Manhattan, some terrorist group randomly jumping out of buildings and attacking the Avengers, who are badly outmatched. The president had sent in the National Guard, but the Avengers are in the thick of it and in grave danger. Bucky feels bad for leaving, but knowing what he knows… he had to get away, and he couldn’t have trusted them anyway. Not until he can vet them somehow. Which is part of what makes Nat’s plan to visit Xavier perfect, because Xavier just… can’t be copied. But it also makes him a target, so hopefully the X-Men can protect him until they get there.

 

The smell of smoke alerts them well before they arrive at the school. Nothing is actively burning, but the closer they get, the more Bucky can smell the aftereffects of an attack, including gun oil and dead bodies. Whatever happened was no simple house fire.

 

As it turns out, the attack isn’t even over. Bucky guns the engine when he notices three men dressed in some weird ancient-looking religious garb - like Crusaders, almost - running down the dirt path away from the school, and then does what he does best: kill. He rams straight into them, knocking them down hard enough that no unenhanced human could’ve survived it, not wanting to take a chance that they will jump back up. Natasha gives him a look that he interprets as _was that really necessary?_

 

As far as Bucky is concerned, yes, it was really necessary. Steve would have been upset with him too, of course, but Steve isn’t here, and he certainly doesn’t answer to Natalia.

 

He parks the car and takes quick stock of the situation. There’s no fire still raging, but an entire wing of the building is burnt to ash, and other nearby wings are in various states of disarray, ranging from singed stone to entire walls missing. A bomb, then, one that went off right in the middle of the dormitories, if what he sees is any indication.

 

On the front lawn are three bloody crucifixes. One body lies motionless on the ground underneath them, making Bucky think that they left the dead one there in the middle of the fight. There is still chaos; it looks like the fighting has gone on a long time, though there aren’t many of their strangely-dressed enemies remaining. The mutants appear to have everything under control. He steps out of the car and pulls a knife anyway, ready to help if need be. Ready to protect himself.

 

A young woman with sharp cheekbones and even sharper green eyes, dressed in a fitted black suit not unlike his own costume, motions to them from the mansion’s doorway. Bucky keeps an eye out for any other religious nuts, but they manage to make it to the door without being accosted. As Bucky steps into the foyer, he listens to the sounds of fighting outside and wishes that they’d arrived sooner. Letting out some of his frustration - about Tony, about the other Avengers, about Steve - would help calm him down a little. _Killing_ would help calm him down a lot, and that is definitely not something he would care to share with his therapist. Or Xavier, for that matter, but there’s nothing that can be done about that.

 

Once inside, the young woman looks them both up and down, studying them. Coming to a decision, she sticks out a gloved hand. “I’m Sage,” she says in a heavy accent; Bucky thinks maybe it’s Serbian, but he might’ve gone soft on spotting that sort of thing like he has in so many other ways.

 

“Bucky Barnes,” he says, shaking her hand.

 

“Natasha Romanoff.” Nat doesn’t accept the hand. He frowns and gives her a disapproving look. Well, if she can get upset with him for murdering murderers, he can get upset when she’s rude. He calls that _at least_ even.

 

Sage takes it in stride, though. “I know who you are. Could see the glint off that arm a mile away. It’s beautiful, by the way,” she says, and smiles at Bucky.

 

“You can thank T’Challa for that. He did an excellent job.”

 

“He did,” she affirms. “Professor X would like to speak with you.”

 

“He’s not involved in the fighting?” Nat asks as they follow Sage down the hall.

 

“No. Something weird is going on here, a disturbance that he can’t quite figure out. An absence, more like.”

 

 _Pathetic,_ Bucky thinks, but keeps his mouth shut. Now’s not the time to berate the X-Men about atrocious security. Besides that, if this has to do with the green lizard things… well, he and Natalia had assumed Xavier and his ilk would be able to sense them and weed them out, but what if the psychics aren’t capable of that? Or what if the aliens are more powerful than Strange had thought?

 

Xavier’s facing the window when they are allowed in the room. Sage leaves them with a promise to talk to them later. A quiet few moments pass. Bucky and Nat wait patiently, standing at attention.

 

“So. The Widow and the Soldier. I assume you’re here about the attack in New York?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “That and… maybe what happened here, if they’re related.”

 

“Oh, I’ve no doubt they’re related,” Xavier says in those deep, rich tones of his. “But how, I’ve yet to figure out. Perhaps you can shed some light on it.”

 

“You could just find out for yourself,” Nat says hesitantly.

 

“I don’t tend to do that without permission, unless you are an enemy. It’s rude. I consider it a form of rape.” Bucky and Nat both nod, even though the Professor can’t see them. They can understand the implications better than most. “I’m aware that your thoughts are there, though, and if you project enough, I can get them without trying. Still, I’d rather do this through conversation, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Well, I can give you the short version,” Nat says. “It’s the Skrull.”

 

The Professor’s head picks up a bit, and he turns his chair around to face them. He looks haggard, older than when Bucky had last seen him, though that had been from a distance. At death’s door, perhaps. He also looks surprised. “The Skrull? That’s unexpected.”

 

“Why?” Bucky asks.

 

“Because they’re practically a myth here on Earth. Oh, I know they’re out there in the multiverse; Strange and I have discussed it a number of times. But he thought they wouldn’t deign to attack us here. Not on our turf.”

 

“What’s their play?” Nat wonders aloud.

 

“They don’t have much thought except infiltration and control. They’ll want to take over, nothing more complicated than that. Not like Thanos. They’ve probably got people in positions of higher power scattered through the globe. And they’re smart. They certainly fooled us,” he adds ruefully.

 

“That’s unfortunate,” Nat says. “We’ve got even less of a chance than you do.”

 

“Oh, they can’t fool me for long. You forget that I’ve been at this a long time.”

 

Bucky sighs. “So do _we_ have a play here?”

 

“Well, you can head to New York. Join in the fighting, perhaps; as far as I know, it’s still going on. Has been for almost a full day. The Avengers must be tiring and could undoubtedly use your help.”

 

“Yeah, but how would we know they’re actually on our side? Tony’s one, and he’s leading the fight,” Bucky points out.

 

“Stark?” They both nod. “Well, that makes things a little more interesting. Guess I’m not surprised they infiltrated the Avengers themselves. That means you don’t know who to trust, yes?”

 

“Exactly,” Nat says with a puff of heavy air. “Not that either of us were particularly trusting before.”

 

Bucky laughs self-deprecatingly, feeling forlorn. “You can say that again.”

 

Xavier gives him a considering look, and Bucky feels that shivery, bug-like feeling. Like the microscope is being calibrated, the oculars aimed at him. “I sense some recent distress that has nothing - and yet everything - to do with your past.”

 

“Yeah, I kinda don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Will it interfere with this?”

 

“No. He’s moving past it. Right, Barnes?” Natasha gives him a meaningful look.

 

“Right.” Not that anything could get in the way of the Soldier if - when - Bucky woke him up. Dissociation is a helluva thing. And there’s no Steve Rogers here to stop him, either, which is perhaps more unsettling than it should be, considering that the words are gone for good.

 

“Well, I just happen to know someone you can _definitely_ trust. And they can help lead you out of this mess you find yourselves in.”

 

“You aren’t willing to help us?” Nat asks.

 

“I will be, in a way. If the Skrull are behind this, they’ve got control of our enemies. I can’t fight them on two fronts.” He shakes his head. “No, we will have to go our separate ways on this, though I will need to tag along on your trip since the location is top-secret. But it’s your job to save the Avengers, since they are likely in grave danger.”

 

“Or already dead,” Nat says emotionlessly.

 

“Or that,” Xavier acknowledges.

 

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

 

The Professor briefly hesitates. “Well… I don’t think you’re going to like it, Sergeant Barnes.”

 

Bucky just shakes his head. “Not like that’s new.”

 

“I suppose that’s a good point. Still, keep your head up. Things will get better,” Xavier tells him, and Bucky takes that as a bad sign. What the hell is the man leading them into? Whatever it is, they’re about to find out.

  


***

 

Bucky fights a sense of foreboding all the way to Pittsburgh. Nat stares at him sympathetically, but her sympathy does jack shit - this isn’t garden-variety shitstorm on the way, no. His instincts are screaming at him that something just as bad as the Skrull invasion - or worse - is about to go down. Something he might not be in a place to handle. That makes no sense whatsoever, because unless Xavier is secretly Hydra and they have a new way to brainwash him, he should be able to handle anything.

 

Finally, Nat moves across the aisle of the private plane to sit next to him - not that Xavier couldn’t listen in on the conversation if he’d really wanted to, but he suspects it’s for whatever limited privacy they can get.

 

“How you holding up?”

 

He stares at her, says nothing, and then looks at the hands in his lap. They’re soft hands, softer than they have any right to be given his scars elsewhere. It makes no sense that the serum would heal him here - here, his hands, the ones that caused the deaths of so many people. They’re so _soft._ The only part of him that is.

 

Nat gently reaches out and lifts his chin. It makes him think of Steve.

 

“Why are you brooding again? I thought we were moving past this.”

 

“I’m scared,” he says simply, and that takes her aback. She probably didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. It’s like she forgets sometimes that he’s not a spy. Not like her. Their stories were woven together in some places, yes, but his road had continued down an even darker path than hers. There are things that even she doesn’t know about, not firsthand and not from his dossier. Things he’d prefer nobody ever discovers.

 

“I know, but we’ll save them. Tony… I don’t know. The Skrull don’t always kill their victims, especially when they’re important, powerful people. Just in case they need additional information, I guess. And Stark is one of the brightest people in existence, so they probably need him for now. But whether he’s still alive or not, we’ll get the rest of them out. We’ve got time.”

 

“You just have to keep telling yourself that, huh?”

 

She shrugs. “Gotta tell yourself something.”

 

“Nat. How do we know Xavier’s telling us the truth?”

 

Natasha frowns. “Why would he lie to us? The Skrull could never get him. And they wouldn’t leave him alive even if they could.”

 

“I don’t think he is one, either, but they did get past his defenses. If they can do that much, they can get to anyone Xavier thinks he has hidden away. No matter what he says… how do we know? How will we know that any of the others are who they say they are?”

 

“I imagine the answer to that is ‘very carefully.’”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Thanks, that’s a big help.”

 

“Well, do you have a better idea?”

 

Bucky looks away; no, he does not have a better idea. At this point, he’s in a shoot-first, ask-questions-later kind of mood. “We have to figure out something, or he could be leading us to our deaths.” He turns back to her, and her eyes are so green in the light from the window it damn near takes his breath away. She’s so damn gorgeous. And then it occurs to him - how does he know she’s not one of them, too? Shit, that would be devastating - he forces himself not to think on it too much, forces himself deeper into the mind of the Soldier. Rational, calm, calculating. “He wouldn’t lead us to trouble on purpose, I suspect, but still.”

 

“We’ll find out soon enough. For now… just try to relax, okay?”

 

“Seventy years they had me, Natalia,” he says under his breath. “Relaxation isn’t exactly my strong suit. Not anymore.”

 

“Then be the man Steve would want you to be.”

 

She’s a pain in the ass, and a little bit of a bitch for that, but goddamn does he appreciate her in this moment. Not because that’s an easy thing to hear, but because it’s true. And he can’t hate her for it. In fact, Bucky’s discovering that he can’t hate any of them, that all of the hatred in his heart is toward Hydra and toward the mad Titan. He can’t find it in his heart to hate She That Must Not Be Named. Maybe he’s a better man than he gives himself credit for.

 

“Steve’s not here,” he says stubbornly.

 

She gives him a knowing look and he deflates.

 

They don’t talk the rest of the way, but the silence is a little less heavy. Not by much, but it’s something.

  


***

 

They make their way down to just south of the city, landing on a weedy, ill-used airstrip that looks more like a parking lot than a private landing zone. A creepy feeling descends on Bucky when he walks off the plane, like bugs crawling all over his skin, wiggling into the pores themselves; it’s only like this when there’s a memory nearby, and usually not a pleasant one.

 

A nondescript vehicle with drivers dressed like secret servicemen pick them up, and the feeling only grows as they continue into the urban jungle of Pittsburgh. Bucky has a sense of _deja vu_ so strong he’s sick with it - this must be the exact landing site of one of his missions, the exact path his handlers took to whatever atrocity it was that he committed. His ears start to buzz, vision starts to tunnel, and then - yes - that corner there, he remembers -

  


_She’d smiled at him, the woman, the one he was sent to kill, smiled so bright and kind and he’d thought, through the haze, just for a second, that maybe he should try just saying no. The thought alone had surprised him; Zola had tortured those two letters out of him by the time the fifties had arrived, and this was well after._

 

_A smile like the sun, she’d had, reminding him of… someone, another small blond with a pretty face and barely-there freckles, but the memory was there and gone in the blink of an eye and all that existed after was the mission. His orders were not just to kill but to cause pain, to leave her writhing in the street, well on the way to death but oh-so-very-alive for long enough to send a message to her family, the ones who were inside the cafe across the street, the ones who would hear her screaming for her life in just a few moments._

 

_He’d smiled back at her, mouth remembering how to do what his heart had forgotten, and she’d relaxed, looked away… and felt the blade slide in between her thighs, right at the apex of her right leg and groin. He’d knicked one of the arteries there, not the femoral artery itself, no - she’d bleed out too fast if that were the case - but a feeder, something a little smaller but no less deadly. He estimated she’d have five minutes maximum before she was a goner._

 

_Then, before she could even begin to scream, he’d flipped the knife into his other hand, the metal hand, and stabbed straight up through her chin and into her tongue, nailing it ever-so-deftly to the roof of her mouth, adding insult to injury. A shocked, silent second had passed before she’d collapsed, and that had opened the gates; her scream echoed in his head the remainder of the day until he was, mercifully, placed back into the tube._

  


“Hey! Hey, Barnes? Bucky? You in there? Hey. There you are. Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe.”

 

Bucky comes back to himself in the backseat of the Lincoln Town Car Xavier had sent for them. Xavier, Sage, and Natasha are all staring at him in concern; the driver and apparent bodyguard in the front seats stare straight ahead, ignoring them entirely. Bucky’s fingers itch for the blade hidden in his sock, but he’s got enough presence of mind to know better than to reach for it. When the panic hits like this, all he can do is push through it. Adding a weapon to his hands right now would be foolish.

 

Nat reaches down and takes his hand in her own. He stares at it stupidly. There’s a part of Bucky that’s grateful, a very human part that gets stronger by the day, but the Soldier that still lives somewhere deep down inside his soul whispers _weak,_ and he shudders. She should’ve been dead before she’d had an opportunity to even touch him.

 

She squeezes his hand to ground him in the moment, and the feeling passes. “You’re okay now.”

 

“What’d I do?” he asks.

 

“You went catatonic. Rocking back and forth. Didn’t cry or scream or anything, but you wouldn’t answer our questions, either.” She cuts her eyes toward Xavier. “We didn’t want to disturb you.”

 

Bucky looks at the Professor. “So you don’t know?”

 

“Oh, I have a guess. I know where we are and where we’re going, after all. But I already told you, I’m well past the need to delve into people’s minds needlessly.”

 

“And if it had been necessary?”

 

“Then I would’ve done it,” he says simply.

 

Bucky shrugs. “Seems risky to me, but you’re the boss here.” He sighs, feeling every second of his hundred-odd years of life weigh upon him. “We’re going to the old warehouse around the corner, aren’t we?” It was there they’d taken him and put him back into the tube, a weapon in storage until the next time it was needed.

 

“I was part of the team that took it from their hands several years ago,” Sage tells him. “We had need of certain… things… at the facility, but we didn’t know that it was Hydra at the time. We thought they’d cleared out well before we got there.”

 

“But you found out?”

 

“They didn’t leave much behind,” Xavier says. “Too much cyanide going around for me to learn much, except that yes, it was a Hydra compound. We… reappropriated it.”

 

There’s something Xavier’s not telling him, such as why he didn’t report Hydra to the authorities at the time, but it’s not like he’s the one with the power to go digging through someone’s mind. “Reappropriated?”

 

“Yes,” Sage says in her charming accent. “There were only low-level operatives left anyway. It wasn’t much but a safehouse at that point.”

 

“And even they took the cyanide?”

 

“Hydra’s rotten from top to bottom,” Nat says, mouth set in a grim line.

 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

 

Sage’s green eyes sparkle knowingly in the sunlight streaming through the car window. “Because even brainwashed, you wanted to walk away. You fought to gain your life back.”

 

Bucky looks at Sage, really _looks_ at her, wondering how she knows that. Wondering how much she knows. Some of it is public domain now, especially after the brief tribunal in which he’d been acquitted for every crime he’d ever committed as a prisoner of war. But she’s smart, and she’s probably read between the lines. And her own past is a question mark for Bucky, but he has the feeling that maybe she knows a little bit about that herself.

 

A few contemplative minutes later, the car pulls up at the warehouse. Bucky stares at the _84 Lumber_ sign out front, feeling that buzz starting in his bones and across his skin again. It’s the same place where they’d put the Soldier back in the tube after he’d killed that woman. They hadn’t bothered to wipe the blood from underneath his fingernails, just stuck him straight in there until they pulled him out years later. The tips of his fingers had been dyed the color of rust by then.

 

 _Rusted_.

 

He takes a deep breath to calm himself. That part of his life is over now, and he’s free of the words thanks to T’Challa and his scientists. He’ll never go back into cryo again. Hell, the tube may not even be here.

 

The interior has changed a bit. It’s no longer filled with neat rows of lumber waiting to be carted off; all that’s been replaced by machines and workstations that appear completely foreign to Bucky’s admittedly untrained eye. A lot of it looks brand new, too, like whoever now owns the place - Xavier? the school? - has gone to great lengths to keep up appearances.

Sage takes the lead, wending her way between stacks and crates and stations to a dusty old elevator, really just a cart suspended in a shaft that’s probably as ancient as the building is. They step on, leaving their driver and bodyguard behind, and ride down to the basement.

 

“We haven’t really been keeping up with the place,” Sage admits as she enters in the code for the basement offices, leading to a maze of corridors and dead-ends. “Nobody is allowed down here except for a handful of us. No one else even knows the place exists.”

 

“I thought you said this was someone’s office? You were taking us to someone who you were sure wasn’t a Skrull,” Nat says with a touch of skepticism and not a little paranoia.

 

“It’s… not that, exactly. I mean, we’re sure he’s not Skrull. But…”

 

Bucky recognizes the long hallway where Sage is leading them. The crackling in his bones that had started on the street comes back with a vengeance; it’s like a buzzsaw now, carving him apart from the inside out. The sense of foreboding is nearly overwhelming, and he has to physically force every step forward. He reminds himself again that they’re just memories, that he’s a free man and will continue to be so, but it doesn’t help. By the time they’re standing outside the chamber, he’s sweating and swearing under his breath. Nat eyes him but says nothing, just puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sage meets their eyes and opens the door.

 

Bucky’s not sure what he expected, but it’s not this. Not in a million years could he have seen this coming.

 

The cryo tube sits in the corner, the same spot where Bucky had lain for who knew how long, but that’s not what catches his eye, no. It’s what the tube contains that has him staring, wide- and wild-eyed and wanting to run away, just take off, climb the elevator shaft, and never look back.

 

_No. Please, no. I can’t deal with this._

 

Bucky closes his eyes, hoping against hope that what he saw was an apparition, a ghost, a figment of his imagination… but no, it’s there when he opens them again, and after he meets Natasha’s sorrowful eyes, there’s no room to deny it.

 

In a warehouse basement on the south side of Pittsburgh sits a cryo chamber, and in that cryo chamber sits Steven Grant Rogers, frozen for the second time in his unnaturally long life.

 

And Bucky knows he can’t handle it, so he doesn’t bother trying. He falls to the floor, unconscious, and Steve’s beautiful face is the last thing he sees for a long time.


	5. It's only been a moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't my favorite chapter because oh my god, these two just will not get it together. Much angst. A little whiny. I promise it gets better.

 

 

 

Something’s not right. Bucky is aware that he should know what it is, but everything’s fuzzy, a little like after he’d been awakened from cryo. It’s not cryo though, right? That part of his life is over… right? He seems to recall a lot of wild shit, which includes actually dying, and he’s never dreamed in cryo before. So it must have all been real, as unlikely as that seems.

 

Still. Something is off. Something’s missing that should be present… or present when it should be gone. Only… what is it?

 

_You’re takin’ all the stupid with you._

 

_I got no right to do any less than them._

 

_Don’t sacrifice yourself for nothin’, you stupid punk._

 

He rises toward consciousness in a panic, not knowing how or why, but understanding that the goddamn punk’s gone and done it and gotten himself on the front lines. He’d made it to Europe like he thinks he’s gonna punch Hitler out in a back alley somewhere, and _fuck_ -

 

Wait. No. Steve’s not ninety-five pounds and it’s not 1943 any longer. This isn’t World War II, either. It’s 2019, there’s a new battle to be fought, and Steve…

 

_Steve._

 

Bucky’s eyes snap open. He recognizes the cold stone ceiling of the warehouse basement. Additional information-gathering reveals that he’s in a small converted bedroom, on a cold, hard cot, probably where he would have been expected to stay if he’d gotten separated from his handlers that day back in the… late ‘90s, he thinks now. This is likely where his handlers had stayed that night they put him in cryo just down the hall from here.

 

Right. Down the hall. Cryo tube.

 

… An unwelcome surprise.

 

An appraisal of the entire room yields him exactly what he expects to see: makeshift bedrolls, Nat and Bucky’s backpacks, and Steve Rogers - stupidly clean-cut, handsome, foolish - sitting slumped with his back to the nearest wall. Asleep.

 

A maelstrom of emotions rushes through Bucky. Sympathy for the post-cryo exhaustion. Rage for the fact that the idiot went into cryo to begin with. Other things - fondness, sadness, pride. There are so many questions, so much confusion and bewilderment along with all that, too. But mostly what he feels is despair.

 

Months, it’s been. Months since he’d seen Steve for what he thought would be the last time. Bucky has no context for the situation he faces now. Questions, sure, that’s to be expected, but this is beyond unprecedented, and hope isn’t something he particularly fancies. He’s loved and lost Steve how many times already? Another time would be too much. It might be easier to slip out before any of them even notice he’s gone. Do it on his own. Leave it all behind before his heart’s broken yet again.

 

And that’s not even touching the anger layered on top of everything like grime, tainting his thoughts, restricting clarity even further. Gumming up the machinery. The anger that he’s been avoiding, that his therapist had told him he needed to acknowledge and work through. Bucky’d thought there was no reason to concern himself with ‘working through it,’ considering he’d never see Steve again anyway.

 

Boy, is he regretting that decision now.

 

He has no idea how this could’ve happened, or why it did, or what they’re going to do now… it’s the most lost he’s felt since that moment he realized he’d pulled Steve from the Potomac and still didn’t know who he was, who either of them were. Except this is worse, because he’s not _supposed_ to feel lost anymore. He’s supposed to have healed, or as much as Bucky Barnes will ever heal from the fucked-up shit that had been done to him. And he’d been on the way to that, goddammit, until this idiot decided to come back into his life.

 

Steve shifts uncomfortably, and Bucky starts to panic. What if he wakes up? Bucky can’t face him like this. He’s not ready. He doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ be ready.

 

Movement through the doorway catches his eye. Natasha is staring at him from around the corner, eyes full of pity. Bucky can’t stand that look on her. He glares, and she shrugs as if to say _it is what it is._

 

And of course, before Bucky can break through his apparent paralysis to leave the room, leave the area, leave the damn _state_ , Steve stirs to wakefulness. Bucky closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, because Lord, is he going to need to dig deep just to get through this conversation. If only he could disappear into thin fucking air.

 

“Buck! Buck, you’re awake, you’re okay!” Steve cries, like he’d just gone from coma to fight-ready in the blink of an eye. Maybe he has, if the serum is still active. He stands up and walks the few paces to Bucky’s bedside, then reaches down to grab his shoulder. Bucky can’t help it; he flinches.

 

Steve removes his hand as if he’d been burnt. “Buck?” he asks cautiously.

 

Bucky grits his teeth, having no idea what his mouth will spew until it actually comes out. “Why?”

 

Steve’s head tilts to the side. “Why what?”

 

Bucky’s not even sure _he_ knows. “Why did you…” He makes a sound of disgust. “How do you not know what I’m asking you?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “I can’t read your mind, you know.”

 

“I’m serious, Rogers!” Bucky yells, and Steve takes a surprised step back.

 

“I know,” he says, growing serious himself. “Talk to me. Tell me, yell at me, whatever you need.”

 

“What, are you always my punching bag, is that it?”

 

“Bucky, you’re being childish.”

 

“I’m… Are you _shitting_ me?” _You leave me for her, alone and vulnerable and cold, and then show up out of the blue like this, and I’m being childish for freaking out?_

 

“How does that help the situation we’re in now?”

 

“I’m not interested in helping the situation we’re in now, _Rogers_ ,” he says with a sneer. Steve winces. Bucky only calls him Rogers when he’s really pissed off, and that’s twice now. Good thing he’s getting the message - pissed off doesn’t even begin to cover it. “I’m interested in getting away from you and _that’s it.”_

 

“Buck…”

 

“No. You don’t get to talk to me. We have… there’s too much. I can’t… I can’t be here right now.”

 

He stands up and swiftly moves past his - ex? - best friend, heading for the door. Natasha’s standing in the hallway with her eyes widened somewhat, appearing concerned and cautious, but altogether unsurprised. Truth be told, Bucky himself is a little surprised at his own behavior, but right now that scum of anger overlaying the rest of his emotions has risen up in a wave and washed the color out of the world. He can’t think straight unless he gets the hell out of here and away from this dumb punk.

 

“Don’t let him follow me,” he says to Nat as he walks by her. He can feel Steve’s eyes like drills in the back of his skull, but he resolutely faces forward, head high, until he’s well out of sight and around two more corners. He climbs into the ventilation system and finds a nice perch to settle on.

 

Then he sits against the wall and stares into the distance, willing his mind as blank as the Asset’s ever was.

 

***

 

Four hours later, Bucky settles in the ceiling above the bunker’s bedroom. Sage has gone and come back with a radio and news - or rather, nothing worth considering news, and the group is sitting around, having a snack.

“So it’s been almost two days of fighting now, and we don’t know what is going on with the Avengers?” Nat asks.

 

“As far as I can tell, everybody is still in the thick of things. Nothing about injuries or deaths, just evacuations and civilian casualties. Sorry this place doesn’t have Wi-Fi access. Oversight on my part, but we were trying to remain under the radar. Now that I think about it, though, it’s a good thing no one knows we’re here. It’d be full of Stark tech otherwise. I don’t doubt the man could find us if he really put his mind to it.” Xavier grimaces as he takes a sip from his coffee mug. “But it looks nasty out there. The X-Men are holding down the fort at home, at least, but we’ll have to get moving quickly, as soon as Captain Rogers has a direction in which to head and is capable of moving.”

 

“I wanna know how they got past your defenses,” Nat says.

 

“My guess is they have some kind of blocking technology. I felt… off, I guess. Like something was wrong. An absence of psychic force that should’ve been there. A hole.”

 

Bucky wants to ask if Xavier wants a security consultant, because that place is being blown to hell every few months from what he can gather.

 

“Could you recognize the danger now if they were near?”

 

“Without a doubt. But I couldn’t do anything to them unless I could grab their thoughts. I have no way to reach into that hole, so I’m afraid I’m a liability. It’s an... unusual feeling.”

 

“You’re not a liability,” Steve says soothingly, and Bucky scowls. That stupid voice and the stupid punk it’s attached to. How is he even _here_ ? How is this _possible_? “You’re the only way we would know for sure.”

 

“So what are we going to do?” asks Sage.

“Well, Captain Rogers here will have to assemble a team, I imagine. People he can trust. Then they’ll have to protect the Sanctums first and foremost. Work with Strange to get to the bottom of it. They’re probably pouring in through them. The X-Men have the Church of Humanity to deal with. We’ll be fighting two separate heads of the same monster, if you’ll excuse the metaphor.”

 

Bucky snorts quietly and watches Steve shift, suddenly uncomfortable. For once, their enemy has nothing to do with Hydra, but the shadow of that particular organization will hang over both of their heads until the day they die. If they can die, come to think of it, and god _damn_ but that’s not a road he wants to travel right now.

 

“Then we’ll have to part ways,” Sage says, sounding sad at the prospect. Bucky really likes the girl, hopes he’ll get the opportunity to know her better.

 

“Yes,” Xavier replies, “but I have every confidence the good captain can figure out who on his team is real and who is not.”

 

“What about those who aren’t? What do we do with them?” Steve asks.

 

“They’re dangerous. Don’t underestimate the Skrull.”

 

“So just kill them? What if we’re not a hundred percent sure?”

 

Bucky sighs. Cold-stone killer, Steve could never be. Not like they made Bucky, _nosiree_. He’s pretty sure that if Hydra had gotten hold of Captain America, they’d have killed him (or themselves) out of frustration before they could’ve brainwashed him, the man is that damn stubborn.

 

“Let me handle it,” Nat says.

 

Sage scratches her chin contemplatively. “And Barnes?”

 

“What about him?” Steve asks with something like cautious hope shining in his eyes. Bucky loves him and hates him all at once. It’s like being swallowed by a wave, overwhelming and awe-inspiring and _awful._

 

“He should be here for this discussion, don’t you think?”

 

Nat scoffs. “You think he’s not listening?”

 

Steve glances up at the vent, unknowingly looking Bucky right in the eye. “Sounds about right.”

 

“He’ll let his opinion be known, don’t worry. I know him well enough by now.”

 

“Will he go along with your plans?” Sage asks.

 

“I think so, but that might depend on certain things being dealt with first.” Nat gives Steve a meaningful look.

 

Steve throws up his hands. “What the hell did I do?”

 

Even Sage’s eyebrows rise. “Is that meant to be a joke? Even I can see what you did.”

 

Steve sighs and frowns, staring down at his hands. “That’s between Bucky and me.”

 

“Sure, but it needs to be dealt with. This isn’t Thanos, but it’s dangerous nonetheless,” Sage tells him.

 

“Noted,” Steve says sarcastically.

 

The Professor, who has been watching the exchange with interest, clears his throat. “When do you intend to go to New York, Captain? Assuming that’s where you’re going?”

 

“As soon as possible, Professor. First thing tomorrow morning, if I can. I’m feeling better, but not exactly mission-ready.”

 

Hydra had made Bucky work while under cryo sickness, but he doesn’t bother throwing that out there.

 

“We can all ride together, then. And your plan?”

 

“I’ll know it when I get there.”

 

The others nod, accepting this, but Bucky fumes. Like this fuckin’ punk knows what he’s dealing with. Then again, has he ever? He remembers a certain labor prison in Kreischberg, and a certain idiot rushing in alone with a glorified trash can to save his life. Instead of feeling gratitude, Bucky just feels sick to his stomach.

 

“I know you wanna say something, Bucky; I can practically hear you thinking. Out with it,” Steve says, and yeah - there’s his opening.

 

“This isn’t a problem you can punch, Rogers.” His voice echoes through the ceiling.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m aware of that, _Barnes_. What else do you expect me to do?”

 

“Think of a ‘plan A’ before you fuckin’ run out the door, maybe? You know, _at least?_ ”

 

“Well, isn’t that why I have a team-playin’ ex-Sergeant here to help? Oh, wait, he’s _not_ here. He’s up in the ceiling brooding like a fifteen-year old who just got caught with his dad’s Tijuana bibles.” Steve’s voice has been raised and it’s loud in the nearness of the basement.

 

“Yep, keep yellin’, Stevie, that’ll get you what you want.”

 

Bucky knows he’s pushing. He knows it’s unfair of him - _knows_ it. They don’t have time for his and Steve’s personal bullshit. They need to come up with a plan and go save the world _again._ And yet all those little things about Steve, the wonderful ones that make him such a great leader and friend, as well as the exasperating ones that give Bucky and their friends a heart attack, they’re all enough to just annoy him now. How can he even work with Steve after this? Like he can just waltz right back in and take over. How dare he think his choice to leave changed nothing?

 

It changed _everything_.

 

Steve visibly does his best to calm down, breathing deeply and closing his eyes. Sage, Xavier, and Natasha all hang back, trying to remain relaxed but all of them - ‘talia included - appear as though they wished they were anywhere else. Bucky can’t really blame them, all things considered. Two super soldiers with a shared history like theirs are bound to have epic throwdowns from time to time, not to mention the added burden of how the two of them feel for each other. And this situation on top of it, well, Bucky definitely feels bad that they’re stuck with them.

 

“Are you going to come down here and chat about this like adults?” Steve asks him, and Bucky rolls his eyes, dropping to the floor next to him. He’s pleased to see Steve startle. “Uh, you could really warn a guy before you do that, you know?”

 

“Not my fault you ain’t cut out for spy work, spooky.”

 

Steve gives him an unimpressed look; Bucky shrugs it off. “Really? Calling me names now?”

 

Bucky settles in next to Steve, but stares at the ground, refusing to meet his friend’s eyes. “I got a lot of shit bottled up right now, Rogers, and if it were up to me, I’d have left the country the second I saw your ugly mug in that cryo tube. If the world weren’t on the line again, I would still do it. I have nothing nice to say to you. Therefore, we need to discuss the mission and nothing else. Got it?”

 

Steve’s eyes burn with pain, like little sickly pools of green in an ocean of calm blue. _Nice to find a flaw,_ Zemo had said, but it’s not a flaw - the contrast only adds to Steve’s beauty. But the pain in them hurts Bucky to see it… however, he’s not taking any of it back. Steve chose to leave him behind. That’s how things were supposed to have stayed.

 

“I got it, but you know we’re going to have to talk about it later.”

 

Bucky bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood. “Mission, Rogers.”

 

Steve stares at him a moment more before clearing his throat and going all _official Captain America_ on him again. “Right. Well, we don’t know the situation in New York. Stark tech is likely compromised, and the entire team relies on it to communicate with each other. Therefore, we have no way of knowing how to get in touch with anybody without also letting Stark in on it. Communication out of New York City is patchy at best; all we know is, London and Manhattan are under attack by some terrorist group that is tied to the Skrull in some fashion. That, and the Church of Humanity are at the mutants’ throats again. Xavier’s taking us to the mansion, I presume, and then the three of us will get dropped into the city. From there, we’ll hone in on the Avengers and see who’s still one of us.”

 

“And how do we plan to tell that?” Bucky asks him, refraining from adding ‘o glorious leader’ to the end.

 

“Ask questions. Personal ones. Close ones. A secret only the two of you share, perhaps,” Nat says, and Bucky nods, though he hardly has any of those. Makes sense.

 

“Is that why they kidnap some people instead of killing them? In case they need their deeper secrets?” Steve asks.

 

“Yeah, but that would be for cases of, say, like with Tony, they need access to his tech. They’d never think to ask for personal secrets. They’ve likely infiltrated his life for several years before they actually took him - they’ll know a lot about him.”

 

Bucky bites his lip, deep in thought. He feels Steve’s eyes on him but does his best to ignore the feeling. “Do you think they’d have kidnapped Stark?”

 

“Almost certainly,” Xavier says, leaning over to place his empty coffee cup on the floor. “Stark’s too important to lose, and has too many things going on that they could use to their advantage.”

 

“Well, that’s going to be on our list of priorities, then,” Steve muses. “And you said the Sanctums are out, Nat?”

 

“They were under attack when we were on the way over here,” she says. “I don’t know about now, obviously. All we’ve got is radio access. No Wi-Fi here, and the Professor is concerned that we’re still too out in the open.”

 

“Who would know we’re here?” Bucky asks.

 

“Any of my companions could be compromised, and a handful of them are aware of this location, if not that Captain Rogers was stored here… if you’ll excuse the expression. I’d prefer to be getting back as quickly as possible to avoid that outcome.” Xavier appears calm, but Bucky can sense the tension under the surface. They’re all feeling it.

 

“As would I. So first thing tomorrow-”

 

“No, Steve. We don’t have any intel whatsoever. Throwing you - a man who is supposed to be long gone - into the fray is going to cause problems. Not the least of which is: how in the hell is anybody going to trust that _you’re_ you?”

 

Steve’s head tilts to the side as he considers that. “Well, how do you know I’m me?”

 

“I’d say because you were kept in cryo for years for some unknown but undoubtedly idiotic reason, but really it’s because _just listen to you_. Thinkin’ you know best when you have no knowledge or experience of the situation at hand. No one else is that damn foolish.”

 

Steve’s jaw firms and he gives Bucky a sour look, because that _is_ a potential problem; he’s obviously trying to hold in his temper. Can’t have a single goddamn conversation without having to win. And given how much Bucky wants to push his buttons right now, they’re going to have to take care of this sooner than he’d like. “You came here looking for a leader, didn’t you? Is that not what you found?”

 

“I didn’t come here looking for _this_.”

 

Steve’s mouth opens but no sound comes out.

 

Nat clears her throat. “We’re happy you’re back, Steve. I’m sure the reasons you chose what you did make sense,” she says, and that’s when Bucky realizes that Natasha is upset, too, upset to have found Steve frozen in a tank and not with them. She gives no other sign of being unsettled, but now that she’s said it, he can hear it in her voice, that uncertainty. Not knowing where she stands with Steve when that was never a question before.

 

He sure does have a lot to answer for.

 

“At any rate,” Nat continues, “we’re behind you. We get to New York and then regroup, find out what exactly is going on there.”

 

Steve nods, but he looks like Bucky’s been kicking his puppy. “And you, Buck? You willin’ to follow me? For old times’ sake?”

 

 _Jesus, that’s not the point, Steve_ , he thinks. It’s not about following him - that was never in question. No matter how much his blood boils to see his face, to just sit on the floor next to him, Steve is still his leader. His captain. “You haven’t seen them, Steve. I have.”

 

“Without Xavier, we’ll have only our wits to try to figure out who is real and who’s not. But we have to do something. If we sit here on our asses, it’ll just-”

 

“Yeah, obviously,” Bucky agrees sullenly. “I’m not suggesting we don’t. But it’s not a ‘fools rush in’ kind of situation. You’re gonna be suspect, up to and especially after people know what’s going on. The sudden return of Captain America’s not gonna sit so well with people who are feelin’ awfully paranoid about whether or not their mom or lover or kid is a doppelganger.”

 

“You don’t think the team will know me?”

 

“I can’t trust myself to know them for sure, so I have no way of knowing.”

 

“Let’s try to get some sleep soon, guys,” Nat says, and Bucky startles to realize that he and Steve have been staring into each other’s eyes during the entire conversation, as if the world around them didn’t exist. “Think of some questions for everyone on the team. Let’s go into this with eyes wide open, shall we?”

 

“I agree,” Steve says. “Professor, will you be taking the cot?”

 

“No, Captain Rogers. My chair can recline just fine. You should take it, since you’re still fighting off the effects of cryostasis.”

 

“That’s okay,” he replies, and Bucky wonders how he ever fell in love with the self-sacrificing little jerk. “Bucky can take the bed.”

 

Bucky scoffs. “You guys really don’t know who around here actually likes the soft beds, do you?” He crouches and then jumps to the ceiling, pulling himself up and into the vent. He misses Clint. Clint would’ve had a nice, comfy nest set up already where they could shoot the shit and play a card game or three.

 

“I’ll take the bed,” Nat explains to Steve as Bucky climbs through the ceiling, happy to be as far away from Steve Rogers as he can possibly be for the next eight hours.

 

***

Bucky doesn’t come down for breakfast. Instead, he stares morosely through the vents and wishes there were an easy way to address this. He hasn’t felt this conflicted since… well, since before he became the Winter Soldier, back when he hated Steve for wanting Peggy Carter. Hated Peggy Carter for wanting him back. Loved Steve with everything his heart was made of and then some. He’s realizing that maybe all of the emotional tripwires he’s stumbled upon in his life had to do with Steve in some way. Not to mention how T’Challa’s people had dug out the command word ‘longing,’ which thankfully Steve will never know about.

 

The two of them had always had a relationship full of potholes, fighting like cats and dogs one second and then comfortable as two best friends could be the next. That night before he’d shipped out was a good example, when the damn punk had accused him of ‘taking the stupid.’ And then the instant he’d turned his back on Steve, Steve had volunteered for a goddamn science experiment.

 

The point is, they’ve always been a mess together. Why should now be any different? Bucky doesn’t know. He’s not sure what he expects to happen from this moment onward either, and it’s driving him nuts. So he mopes and watches the rest of them moving about, preparing for the day. Sage turns on the radio as she sits on the cold concrete floor, and that’s when they get the worst news they’ve heard yet.

 

“... Wanda Maximoff, otherwise known as the Scarlet Witch, has been hospitalized and is in critical condition. Reports say she was hit by a piece of two-by-four from behind while protecting fellow Avenger Sam Wilson…”

 

From his vantage point in the rafters, Bucky closes his eyes against a sudden onslaught of emotion. He’s surprised to discover that losing Wanda - if they do lose her - would be devastating, despite the fact that he hardly knows her. She’s such a sweet girl who’s already lost so much to this cruel world: a brother, an entire family. Now that the Avengers are her only family, who’s left to protect her?

 

“Well, that tells us something, at least,” Nat says contemplatively. “They want Wanda out of the game. We’ve gotta go get her before they get to her first.”

 

“Not surprising,” Xavier says as he pours Natasha and Sage a cup of coffee from the office coffee maker. Bucky wonders what the man would’ve done if they hadn’t had one down here - he probably would’ve made the guards run to the store to get them one. Bucky hadn’t thought it was possible to drink more coffee than Clint, but clearly it is. Steve predictably waves it off.

 

“Why’s that?” Steve asks.

 

“Can’t exactly fake her powers and she can wreak havoc on an entire army if she wants to. Well, you remember,” Nat says.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

 _But you conveniently forgot how much I needed you,_ Bucky thinks uncharitably, and then on top of that, _don’t start. Do not start this, Barnes, it’s too goddamn early and there’s shit to do._

 

But he doesn’t seem to be able to help himself, not when it comes to Steve. Not right now. The one thing that makes him feel better about his apparent inability to chill out about this is that he and Steve have always had a rocky relationship. Like brothers, indeed.

 

“That’s funny, because it seems to me like there’s a lot you’ve forgotten,” he calls down, and then winces. At least they can’t see him.

 

Steve’s eyes scrunch up in confusion. “Like what? What is it that you think I forgot?” He sounds genuinely curious.

 

“Maybe how much the team needed you?” _And by ‘team’ I mean ‘me.’_

 

“You need me now, and I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

“Not what I meant, Rogers.”

 

“Stop calling me ‘Rogers.’ And… look, this isn’t the time for this discussion. We’ve gotta get to Wanda. It’s past time.”

 

“Oh, but we’re gonna have this fight.”

 

“Not. Now,” Steve grits out. “I promise we’ll talk later, okay?”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Perfect, we’ll do everything your way.”

 

“Bucky-”

 

“Stop!” Xavier suddenly shouts, and everyone goes still. Bucky sits up, instantly on full alert.

 

“What is it?” Steve asks, all business.

 

“That disturbance is back. There’s… one, I think. They’ve sent just one, but they’re likely an assassin. We’ve got to get out of here; otherwise, we’re sitting ducks.”

 

That’s all Bucky needs to hear. He jumps down, giving Steve an indecipherable look - again not entirely sure what it means - and picks up his stuff. Steve’s right about one thing: they’ve been here too long already. Rescuing Wanda at least gives them a direction and a clue about who the Skrull might be after.

 

“We’re going to talk about this later,” he promises Steve. “Probably several times.”

 

“I know,” Steve says dejectedly. “But I’ve waited seventy years for you, Buck. Twice over. I’ll wait seventy more if that’s what it takes.”

 

Steve grabs his shield and walks away, and why can’t Bucky think of a single thing to say to that?


	6. It's only been a lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky finds one friend and loses another.

 

 

The attacker is waiting for them just outside the building. His face is covered by a mask with a crude skull painted over it, and he’s dressed in a tac vest equipped with multiple pockets for ammo and guns, a get-up with which Bucky is deeply familiar. They have no idea who he might be, or rather might be impersonating, but he moves with a sinuous grace not unlike that of Bucky himself. Clearly, this guy is a professional.

 

The would-be assassin jumps from the roof of the one-storey warehouse, landing on top of Steve, who has no way of reaching for his shield with a two-hundred-plus pound assassin on his back. They scuffle, Steve struggling as the man flails wildly, limbs akimbo while he holds on for dear life. Bucky and Natasha spring into action, both reaching for their knives instead of guns so as not to hit Steve by accident while he’s trying to get the man off of himself.

 

Bucky sneaks up and practically rips the man off Steve’s back like Velcro, tossing him to the gravelly alleyway, but he rolls easily and gets back up, brandishing a blade of his own. While Steve is briefly off-balance, Nat and Bucky circle the man. Sage pulls Xavier off to the side, close to the building for protection; he appears to be deep in concentration. Nothing seems to be happening to the assassin despite Xavier’s efforts, so Bucky assumes that he must be a Skrull with some kind of psychic-blocking technology, as they’d figured. Doesn’t bode well for them, but there’s no time to ponder their conundrum now.

 

Bucky and the assassin circle each other; Natasha flanks the man, but he’s fast and aware of her behind him. Bucky’s not sure the two of them have the working capability - yet - to coordinate an attack, though they may need to attempt it. There’s no doubt in Bucky’s mind that they’ll be able to take him down, though, between the three of them. It’s just a matter of time.

 

The man lunges at him, and Bucky dodges easily, bringing his knife up behind him to try to stab the guy in the kidney, but he’s too fast, rolling again and turning around, settling into another defensive position. Now he’s facing both Natasha and Bucky, with Steve getting to his feet behind them. Sage stands in front of the Professor on the other side of the assassin.

 

“Give it up,” Bucky says in a calm voice. “No way you’re gonna get out of this alive if you continue to attack us.”

 

The man ducks his head in acknowledgement. “You’re likely correct,” he says behind the mask, and Bucky feels rather than sees Steve startle behind him. “Bad luck I ran into all three of you assholes. But you don’t know what I came here to do.”

 

Steve steps up next to Bucky, wearing horror like a mask, similar to their bridge fight years ago. Back before Bucky remembered himself.

 

“Rumlow? But... you died. Wanda… the Accords…” he says in a shocked voice.

 

“Hey lookie, it’s Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes himself. When’d you come back, Cap? Did you miss your little boyfriend here, your pal _Bucky_?” He spits the name, hatred oozing from his words.

 

“Asshole,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He’d heard about Brock mocking Steve in the marketplace on that fateful day a few years ago - a day which seems like a lifetime ago now. As if brainwashing and torture were funny, something to be joked about. Bucky wonders when Rumlow was turned, if that had happened before or after he’d become a Skrull. Before or after Hydra, perhaps. It’s discomfiting to imagine that maybe Brock wasn’t a bad guy at all, that maybe he was overtaken and turned before he got a say in how his life played out.

 

“What do you want?” Nat asks in a no-nonsense tone.

 

“You’re smart, you figure it out, gorgeous.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Rumlow, I thought you were one of the good guys once. Don’t be a jerk.”

 

_Yeah, Steve, because ‘don’t be a jerk’ is real damn convincing._

 

“We’re gonna take you alive, and you’re gonna talk,” Natasha warns.

 

“Nah. It don’t seem like that’s in the cards today, does it, sweetheart? Anywho, it’d be nice to sit and chat, but I’ve got shit to do around here.”

 

With that, he does a quick backwards roll and lands within a foot of the Professor and his protector. Sage does her best to stop him, but strength and experience mean a lot, and he easily overpowers her, sidestepping a roundhouse and slashing at her in retaliation. She’s knocked to the side with a big gash up the side of her arm

 

Their attacker lunges for Xavier, but Bucky’s thrown blade finds the base of his skull before Rumlow’s knife can come down. He flops directly onto the Professor’s lap, dead before he lands. Steve, who had been getting ready to toss his shield, drops it to the ground and runs to Sage, checking her over to make sure she’s okay. Bucky and Nat make their way to Xavier, who is shivering, a leaf in a strong breeze. It’s likely been a long time since the old man has seen any combat, let alone had to deal with something that he couldn’t fight. Bucky knows that deep-seated fear well. Too well.

 

“Hey, how are you doing?” Nat asks, taking inventory.

 

“I’m fine. Really.” Xavier doesn’t seem fine, but neither of them push it. “We need to take this mask off, find out who this man once was.”

 

“It’s Rumlow,” Natasha confirms. “There’s no mistaking that voice.”

 

Bucky kneels down to remove the mask. He doesn’t remember the voice, but he knows the face, can remember Rumlow all too clearly - one of Pierce’s contemporaries; he was there the last time they’d wiped him. Nausea rises in his gut and he steps away to calm himself.

 

Nat puts a hand on his shoulder. “You doing okay?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” His turn to lie, apparently. “I just… I knew him.”

 

“From the vault, you mean?”

 

Deep breath. “Yeah.”

 

“Sorry,” she murmurs quietly. “That can’t be easy.”

 

“No, but it’s over. I keep telling myself that, anyway.”

 

She nods. “I know. It took me a long time, too.”

 

He turns around to look at her, gorgeous green eyes and freshly-dyed scarlet hair. Her face is closed off but her stance is open, facing him. He’s learned to read her well enough to know that she gets it, really _gets it_ in a way the others never could, and that she cares. It’s more than he ever thought he’d have again; 1945 and a copy of Steve’s obituary had broken him of that hope.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly, meaning it.

 

“Of course.”

 

Steve clears his throat behind them. “If you two lovebirds are done, we have a plane to catch.”

 

“You sound bitter, Rogers. Afraid she’s taken your place?” Bucky meets his eyes dead-on, unafraid.

 

Steve’s impossibly chiseled jaw sharpens even more, if that’s possible. “Are we gonna do this every time?”

 

“Hey, you’re the one that started it, calling us that.”

 

“Guys!” Nat yells, and they all stop. “You do realize we’re in the middle of an alleyway in downtown Pittsburgh, right? I haven’t seen anyone look this way or, heaven forbid, filming us, but we need to get moving. No one needs to get involved in the Avengers’ quarrels, nor are we safe from more attackers.”

 

“She’s right,” Xavier says. “Let’s get to the plane.”

 

“Aye-aye, sir,” Steve says.

 

Bucky shrugs and falls into step with the rest of them as they make their way back to the landing site. They have a long trip ahead of them and likely a major fight on their hands once they get to New York. Bucky might be acting like a big baby, but he can put this aside for the sake of the team if nothing else. He makes a promise to himself to do just that, but isn’t sure whether or not he can keep it.

 

Steve, still tired from cryo-sickness, sleeps on the plane, thank heavens. Bucky spends most of the time staring at him, ignoring Natasha’s knowing glances from the sidelines. He can only imagine what his face must look like right now - entirely too soft, too gentle, too old-Bucky and not enough new-Bucky. Despite himself, he feels drawn to Steve, to the love he never got to share with the man. He hates himself for it, but oh, how he _wants._ And as angry as Bucky is, as much as he hopes he’ll never get over it, seeing Steve just slams it home, how it’s always been this way. Will always _be_ this way.

 

***

 

They drop off the Professor at the university after receiving assurances that he can take care of himself, and Sage flies _Bluebird_ into Manhattan. It’s a short journey, but of course Steve has to start something again as soon as they get in the air.

 

 _I swear if it’s not one of us, it’s the other. How could we ever have a relationship with the amount of bickering we do?_ Bucky thinks as Steve lays into him.

 

“We needed him alive. I was going to knock him out and tie him up. Did you have to kill him?”

 

Bucky sighs and puts two fingers to his right temple, massaging slowly, trying to fend off the oncoming headache named Steve Rogers. “You were too slow, Steve. If I hadn’t thrown it, the Professor would be dead by now. I didn’t have a choice.”

 

“There’s always a choice. Did you have to use a knife? Couldn’t you have used something less lethal? It’s not like you’re less accurate with any other weapon.”

 

“Do you think I actually carry less-lethal weapons on my person? Really?”

 

“Well, maybe you should consider it.”

 

Nat, sitting on the opposite side of the plane, watches them, eyes going back and forth between them like she’s a spectator at a ping-pong match. She seems somewhat amused, if resigned to the fate of being stuck with them. Like two bickering old ladies. Or an old married couple, which they might as well be. If only they’d fuck and get it over with.

 

“Sure. I mean, seventy years of building paranoia and always carrying an arsenal… sounds like a recipe to turn me into Captain ‘Goody-Two-Shoes’ America,” Bucky says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Steve makes a frustrated noise. “But you’re done with that, have been done with that for years now. Are you just gonna, what, _kill_ the bad guys all the time? Is that really healthy?”

 

“Okay, A - the bad guys will kill you if you don’t kill them first. That’s why they’re called ‘bad guys.’ And B - I don’t care what’s healthy. I’m trying to stay alive, and that’s how I did it all this time.” Steve’s face gets all _sour-lemon_ , but he has nothing to say to that. They both know he’d have been dead a long time ago if he weren’t a survivor, willing to do what had to be done to stay alive.

 

“Out of curiosity, is this how the two of you have always acted? Or is this new?” Natasha asks.

 

“It’s new,” Steve says.

 

“Always acted this way,” Bucky says at the same time.

 

They glare at each other.

 

“Thanks, that clears it right up.” Natasha rolls her eyes, clearly regretting her life choices.

 

“We were always like this. Or are you the one with the memory problems now?”

 

“Not quite like this. Never like this.”

 

“Nah, we just argued about dumber things. Now we actually have real problems to argue about.”

 

Steve spreads his hands. “I did what I thought was best. That’s all I can ask of myself.”

 

“Yeah, maybe you thought it was best for _you_. But you had a team, Steve. People who cared. People who needed you.”

 

“Hey, I left. I wanted _you_ to move on with your life, too. You didn’t need me, Buck, you were doing just fine on your own before I found you in Bucharest. And you had the others… you didn’t need me.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it - of anger, confusion, or shame, Bucky’s not sure. “And you were so happy in Wakanda. I didn’t want to take you away from that.”

 

“You didn’t think I needed you?” _Nope, too much. Don’t give him too much_ . “That _we_ needed you?” Bucky takes a deep breath and leans back against the seat. Like this punk has any right to tell Bucky what he does or does not need.

 

“Well, I asked if they could wake me up when I was needed… or when you came looking!”

 

Bucky puts his head in one hand and stares at the floor in disbelief, unseeing. “So you think that ‘needing someone’ only involves, what, fistfights? Battles, warzones?”

 

“Well… that’s about all I’ve ever been good for.”

 

“This is not the time for your emotionally stunted _bullshit,_ Rogers!”

 

Steve swallows and turns his head. Bucky watches his Adam’s apple move and finds himself wanting to bite it. _Hard_. “Whatever you think I did wrong… which I’m still not convinced of…”

 

“I think you should consider it a bit harder then, Rogers,” Nat says quietly.

 

Bucky looks at him, smug and mean. “And just why _didn’t_ you come back, Captain? What’s your real damn excuse?”

 

“I honestly didn’t think you’d be this upset with me over it,” Steve replies in a small voice.

 

“Well, you sure were wrong about that. Leaving to begin with. Not coming back when you could. Going into _cryo_ , for goodness’ sake.”

 

Bucky resolutely ignores the voice in his mind telling him _you left him first._

 

“I told you, I asked the Professor to get me out when I was needed.” He sighs, sounding every bit the, what, one-hundred-eighty years he’s lived? Bucky can’t even keep track now. “I wanted you to move on, Buck. Wanted you to be happy, and I worried you’d feel betrayed. Just like you do.”

 

“What _I_ wanted didn’t matter, then,” Bucky responds, feeling like his heart’s being crushed over and over again.

 

“Maybe… maybe you’re right. I’m not perfect,” Steve says, but _yes,_ Bucky’s soul screams, _yes, you are, otherwise this wouldn’t hurt as much as it does. And I both hate and love you for it._

 

Bucky just looks at him, stares, really, feeling the anger dissipate entirely. It’s replaced by that bone-deep weariness that comes from too many years spent on this Earth, and not enough peace.

 

Steve sees his eyes soften, the asshole. “How I felt - feel - about you has never changed. You’ve gotta believe that.”

 

The thing is, Bucky does. He knows that it’s possible to love more than one person at a time. It’s not like he didn’t have his heart taken by the girls he’d dated while they were growing up, all the while silently loving Steve in the background. Love doesn’t know bounds like that, despite what other people tend to think. That was never the point.

 

“I don’t… just don’t know if it matters, Stevie,” he says with a tremor in his voice. “The damage might already be done. I just don’t know,” he repeats.

 

Steve looks sad, as sad as Bucky’s ever seen him, but he’s not going to lie. Not about this.

  


***

 

Bucky sets Steve up in style with a stolen outfit - a winter hoodie and a large outdoor pack for the shield, because they can’t afford to be recognized. Not without the press jumping all over them. That would be a bad thing under the circumstances. As they had gotten back into town, news reports indicated that the impostors have been discovered, and there’s panic all over the world because of it. If they discover now that Captain America is suddenly back in action after having disappeared for so long, hampering the investigation might be the best case scenario. The worst case… Steve accused of being a Skrull, or even blamed for the invasion… is unthinkable.

 

Manhattan is a mess. Some areas are blocked off, garish yellow police tape stretching from block to block in order to hold people back. The three of them could easily - either in an official or secret capacity - get into those areas, but the hospital is the most important thing before they even attempt to dive into the damage, considering the fighting is over and cleanup is what’s left. They won’t find the Avengers there anyway.

 

News reports put Wanda at Bellevue, the area around which is also wrecked. One entire building had fallen down a few blocks away, a three-story that had, thankfully, been evacuated two days prior. One person was killed while walking by on the street.

 

Hearing passersby talking about the destruction makes Steve shake his head wearily. “I should’ve been here.”

 

 _No shit, Steve_ , Bucky thinks but doesn’t say. _But you still can’t save everybody. God, I wish there were some way I could show you that._

 

Natasha gives Steve an unreadable look. “You’re here now.” And, like she’d read Bucky’s mind: “Besides that, you couldn’t have saved all these people.”

 

“He’s always been like that,” Bucky tells her.

 

“A self-sacrificing moron? I noticed.”

 

Steve clears his throat in annoyance. “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here.”

 

“You might as well be a ghost,” Bucky sings, feeling mean, and walks ahead of them. He hears Steve’s sigh behind him as he steps up to the hospital’s front desk, weaving around an entire line of people who raise their voices in anger and frustration as he passes them by.

 

“Where’s Wanda Maximoff?” he asks the tall, thin, and frazzled-looking male receptionist.

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to get in line.”

 

Bucky nods and smiles politely, trying for the kind of charm he might’ve been able to pull out back in the forties. His smile probably looks more like a grimace, truthfully.

 

“I understand you’re busy, sir, but Ms. Maximoff is waiting for us.”

 

He gives Bucky the once-over, noting his faded skinny jeans and NYU sweater with long-sleeved undershirt and gloves, the clothes he’d chosen for himself to help him avoid standing out.

 

“I’m… sure. But I can’t give out information like that anyway, sir, not for any patient.”

 

Bucky licks his lips, leans in, and then murmurs to the receptionist. “You can for this one,” he says, and removes the left glove.

 

The kid’s eyes go wide as he recognizes Bucky’s identity. “Uh, uh… I mean, yeah, I can for this one, absolutely, sir. She’s on the fourteenth floor, room 44.”

 

Bucky smirks and bites his lip, really living it up, then leans in. “Tell anyone we were here and I’ll have your balls for breakfast.” He stands up straight and _simpers_ like a dame. “Thank you, my good man,” he says with a wink, and marches down the hall to the elevator, leaving Natasha and Steve to catch up.

 

“Jesus, I think you made that kid shit his pants,” Nat mutters with a snort.

 

“Well, how else were we going to find it?”

 

“I could’ve hacked their systems, you know. No need to go terrifying the staff with the Winter Soldier gig.”

 

Bucky winks at her. “That wouldn’t have been as much fun, and now we’re already on the way to her room, right? Just trust me on this.”

 

_Besides, the Winter Soldier’s not a gig. It’s always going to be a part of me._

 

There are about fifteen people waiting for the elevator, so they stop talking. It’s unlikely that any of these people will notice them, but the less everyone knows, the better. Bucky wraps an arm around Natasha’s shoulder, pulling her in close, similar to the trick she’d once used to keep Steve out of the eyes of Hydra secret agents. Steve can’t exactly reveal himself from underneath the hoodie, but Bucky can practically smell his exasperation with them as they ride the crowded elevator to the fourteenth floor. Probably jealousy, too.

 

When they finally manage to exit the elevator, a most welcome sight greets them. Bucky grins, watching as Hawkeye flails his arms wildly, either engrossed in weaving a yarn or making fun of Sam’s wings. Sam stands a few feet in front of him, nearly blocking the hall, laughing at whatever Clint has just said. Bucky hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed them, even though he feels a tendril of caution creep up his spine.

 

 _They might not be who they look like_ , he reminds himself.

 

But Steve… Steve Rogers is an idiot, which he proves beyond a shadow of a doubt as he marches up the hall and reveals himself to the world. He’s still more than recognizable, larger than life as he is, and visiting one of the Avengers besides. Bucky shakes his head and asks God for help dealing with this idiot. Sam seems cautiously happy, but Clint practically jumps up and down and squeals.

 

Bucky puts his head in his hands and stands at the end of the hallway, wishing he could draw deeper into himself. People are starting to look. Natasha, still next to him, puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles. Clearly, she’s not worried. He wishes he had her faith.

 

“Steve knows what he’s doing,” she tells him.

 

“I dunno, Nat, Steve’s a mess most of the time.”

 

“Yeah, that’s true. He still manages to save the day most of the time, too. Give him a little credit.”

 

Nat steps forward, and somehow manages to usher all five of them into Wanda’s hospital room. The other bed is empty - bad form with the city in the shape it’s in, but Wanda’s in danger, so needs must. Clint wastes no time in jumping into a chair and chewing on a piece of cinnamon. Bucky can’t help but grin.

 

Wanda’s awake and happy to see everyone, if a little worn down and quiet. “Hi, guys. Thank you for coming to visit… Steve? Is that you?” Her face alights with a smile, making her appear younger. Too young to be caught in this mess.

 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Steve rushes to her side and gives her a big hug, as well as he can leaning down into a hospital bed. She instantly gets beard-burn from his five o’clock shadow. Bucky remembers how quickly his hair would grow once he was thawed. For a few days, it felt like he was a Yeti. The two of them are kind of cute, but Bucky doesn’t want to admit that. Nothing about this situation is supposed to be cute.

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but is this a social call? Or is there more work to be done?”

 

 _Trust Wanda to get straight to the point,_ Bucky thinks. _She had to grow up too damn fast, like so many of us._

 

“Yeah, we’ve got a situation on our hands. I’m sure you’ve heard about the doppelganger situation?”

 

“Rumors only.”

 

“Well, I guess I should let Nat and Bucky take this one over.”

 

Wanda eyes him, sensing something underneath the surface but unwilling to look into it further, not without Steve’s consent. He meets her gaze steadily. There will be time for that later.

 

Bucky lets Nat tell the story, about how she’d noticed that something was off with Stark, how she’d met Dr. Strange at the Sanctum, how and what she’d learned about the Skrull. Clint’s eyes grow wide and he nearly chokes on his cinnamon stick when Bucky describes Tony’s transformation, but Wanda’s eyes merely look sad.

 

“Do you think he’s still alive somewhere?” she ponders.

 

“Xavier seems to think so,” Nat says. “I’m inclined to agree.”

 

“You met the Professor?” Sam’s eyes practically bug out of his face, like they’d met James freakin’ Dean or something.

 

“We did,” Natasha confirms. “That’s the first place we went once we met up, right after you guys left for New York. Tried to figure out what was going on.”

 

“How come you didn’t tell us? You could’ve gotten a message to us somehow,” Sam complains, and Clint nods his head in agreement. Bucky watches them both closely, realizing that he hasn’t known either of them long enough to say whether or not they were infiltrated before he’d even met them. He’s going on nothing but context clues here. It’s frustrating.

 

But he’s also not a stupid man. Quite the opposite, in fact. He sees how tight _Natasha’s_ gotten, and that’s enough to put him on edge. One or both of them are likely compromised. He likes Sam, but he sincerely hopes it’s not Clint.

 

Nat appears to consider the situation for a moment, though she’s not fooling Bucky. No doubt, she’s planned out whatever’s coming next very carefully. He’s ready to move on her signal.

 

“Well,” she says to Wanda, “we want to get you out of here. Obviously, you’re a high priority target, and the team knows where you are. We don’t know who’s been compromised and who hasn’t, but Tony definitely has. Your safety is our first priority. And then, when you’re up for it, we want to know if you can sense the Skrull by looking into their minds.”

 

“Of course. I don’t know if I can do it, but I’ll try. Where are we going?” Wanda asks.

 

“Bucky knows some places from his time with Hydra, but the Red Room had… better accommodations,” Natasha says dryly, giving Bucky a significant look. He just shrugs; it had nothing to do with him. He was merely a weapon, able to think of nothing but the mission and survival. “I use a couple of different safehouses. The trip there won’t be fun, and we’ll have to steal a jet, but it’s nearly impenetrable.”

 

Unusually curious, Bucky asks, “What is it?”

 

“Oh, you’ll see.” She winks at him, then turns around to face the guys, all clustered near the door. “You know what, Clint? This reminds me of that mission in Thailand. The one where we first… well, it was nothing like Budapest, anyway.”

 

Clint’s face turns bright red, reminding Bucky of Steve when he gets embarrassed. “Oh my god, Nat, you shouldn’t tell people about that. Nobody is supposed to know!”

 

“Yeah, that’s about the reaction I expected.”

 

The team - including Bucky - stares at Nat, guessing based on her tone that this information is sexual in nature. Sure, Bucky had seen the potential between them, but never would’ve guessed that they’d been together. Bucky finds it funny that they all stare at Nat instead of at Clint, because Clint’s been married since before he knew Natasha, and isn’t the type to cheat on his wife. Everybody knows that.

 

Which means that’s not what Nat’s referring to.

 

Which means Clint isn’t the real Clint.

 

Dammit.

 

Nat’s hands move in another trained gesture, the signal to get ready, and, in the blink of an eye, pulls out her Glock 26 and shoots Clint just above the kneecap. Clint screams, but because she’d missed his actual kneecap by half an inch, he manages to take off down the hallway, limping but surprisingly spry.

 

Bucky gives chase, followed closely by Steve. They’re both capable of moving far faster than the average human, and though Clint isn’t average, he’s still far from being a super soldier, and he’s also wounded in the leg. They catch him on the stairwell a flight down from Wanda’s floor, but he puts up a bigger fight than they’d expected. Steve ends up with a shattered wrist for his trouble, the same wrist he typically uses to throw the shield, and Bucky’s left to pick up the slack. Compared to some of the scrapes they’ve been in together, it barely even counts, though Bucky glares at Steve for allowing himself to get that wrist within striking range. Steve pretends to be oblivious.

 

Nat makes it to the stairwell, followed by Sam and Wanda, who is walking under her own strength, if slowly. Nat kicks at the fake Clint, who whines pitifully from the ground, which seems like a very Hawkeye-esque reaction as far as Bucky’s concerned. It makes him wonder just how long Barton’s been infiltrated, and whether he’s still alive. Whether, if they get him back, he’ll be the same person Bucky likes.

 

“We’ve gotta get out of here _now_ ,” Natasha says. “The hospital will be in an uproar after the gunshot, and security will be in this stairwell any second. Hopefully, we didn’t just lead them straight to her.”

 

They hurry down the stairs, Steve wrangling Clint so that he’s hanging over that ridiculous shoulder. Bucky falls back to the rear, flanking Wanda and Sam. She’s more powerful than all of them put together, and if the Skrull catch her, they’ll kill her in a heartbeat. Bucky’s willing to put his own life in danger to protect hers, and Skrull or not, goddamn Clint for being right about the whole ‘hero’ business.

 

Once on the street, it’s impossible to hide their identities, given that Steve is carrying a full-grown man over his shoulder. They hurry through the crowd gathered outside the hospital. Bucky fades back into it, keeping an eye out for the glint of sun on scope, or any other suspicious activity, knowing that Nat is doing the same as best she can inside the group. Thankfully, he senses nothing out of place, and they manage to get to their rendezvous point with _Bluebird_ . Every second that passes as they wait for Sage to return makes Bucky’s skin itch like it did in Pittsburgh, but not from a flashback or _deja vu_. This is sheer nervousness, for the rumor of their escape from the hospital will spread like wildfire, and the Skrull will be on their tails shortly.

 

He breathes a sigh of relief as the plane comes into sight. It’s a tight fit, but they all manage to squeeze in. Unfortunately, Bucky’s practically sitting on top of Steve, which is _definitely_ not how he wants this to go, but what choice does he have? Hopefully, it’ll be a quick jump to wherever it is Nat stealing a plane from - or maybe a Quinjet. The new SHIELD might be a good place to start. As far as he knows, Stark doesn’t have his paws in the middle of it yet.

 

“Why don’t we go to Wakanda?” Sam asks suddenly. “Surely T’Challa can hide us away.”

 

“We have no way of knowing if the king is who he says he is,” Nat points out. “Unless you know a lot of personal information about the man, it’s a bad idea.”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky says. “The king can be a hard man to get to know. But I do know Shuri pretty well.”

 

Steve gives him a strange look. He thinks he sees a spark of jealousy in those gorgeous blue eyes once more. _Too fucking bad, Steve_ . Part of him wishes he _had_ gotten with Shuri just to spite him, though in Bucky’s eyes, she’s still just a kid. Not that he’d ever say that to her, of course. She’d probably implant some more trigger words, the kind that would cause him to embarrass himself horribly instead of going on a murder spree.

 

“Are you willing to bet your life on it?” Natalia asks him. “They have access to better technology than Stark does. We might make the problem worse.”

 

Damn. She’s got a point, so he lets silence answer for him.

 

“Alright, then. To LaGuardia we go.”

 

Steve and Bucky both stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind, because _apparently she has_ . “What the fuck?” Bucky asks just as Steve says “No fucking way,” which, for Steve, is a sign of _serious_ concern.

 

She shakes her head at them both. “Do you really doubt my methods?”

 

Steve’s still staring at her in shock, so Bucky responds, “Uh… no?” Which, to be fair, he doesn’t.

 

“My point is made. You guys are just along for the ride. And Clint?”

 

“Hmm?” Clint asks from behind his makeshift gag - his socks, which Bucky had insisted on using as they had nothing else. Plus the bastard deserved it. “Mmmph! Mmm.”

 

“You’re gonna wish you’d never been born when I get hold of you.”

 

 _Not if I get hold of him first_ , Bucky thinks. He’s going to be the one to crack this egg, dammit. Hell, he’d be tempted to start now if Steve had pushed Clint in next to him. Though Nat’s correct - her methods are just as efficient. Probably more than his own, because he’s more inclined to drag things out. Efficiency plus brutality equals Winter Soldier. He was supposed to have left that behind, but these days, the urge to murder is swimming to the surface a lot more often than it should. Adjusting to the outside world again, Steve coming back, acting the hero… it’s a lot of stress to put him under. The trigger words might be gone, but he’s still a formerly-brainwashed, (barely) semi-stable man. He’s just a _man_.

 

The Clint-thing makes a grumbling noise from underneath the gag and then lapses back to whatever it is the Skrull think about. Bucky gives it his own dirty look from around Steve, who gives him the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look in return.

 

Bucky tries to ignore him.

 

The remainder of the ride is quiet, but not in a very comfortable way. Bucky’s sulking, and the only reason he can come up with is that Steve’s warm thigh is pressed against his, and he _wants_ . It’s not fair - none of this is fair - and there’s simply nothing he can do. It’s out of his control. Well, technically, _forgiving_ Steve is within it, and he knows better than to think that’s on anyone else. But the rest of it, mainly what’s happened already, has been done. And now Bucky’s realizing that was the problem all along, or at least one of them. He feels like his life has spiraled out of control yet again. It’d be nice if his third chance at life came up with better dice.

 

Once they reach the airport, Sage is somehow given permission to land. Maybe they have a deal with Xavier, but Bucky doesn’t ask. He is a little curious about how Natasha managed to get them a flight, but maybe it’s better not to know.

 

In the end, there’s no real secret to it. Nobody even bothers to look sideways at Clint, because the guy knows that if he tries anything funny, he’ll have the wrath of five Avengers fall on him. Natasha talks to a security guard at the gate, who leads them to the international flight terminal. There’s a small plane waiting at the end of the runway, far away from the commercial jets. She thanks the guard and slips him a wad of cash, and they’re free to board. Follow the money, he supposes, but still, that was a bit too easy. Natasha just smirks at him when Bucky raises an eyebrow.

 

Alright then, it really is that easy.

 

He’s relieved when Steve’s warmth moves away from him, though he’s also disappointed. A little too much. However, he sits on the other side of the thankfully much larger plane. He misses Sage, who’d left them at the airport, kissing Bucky’s cheek when she’d said goodbye, and he misses Clint, too, who he hopes was the real Clint. Steve stares at him longingly the entire trip but says nothing, and Bucky doesn’t look in his direction. He’s done talking.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. But tonight you're a stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, Bucky and Steve do NOT have good headspace in this chapter. Moreso than other chapters, even. Just be aware of that. 
> 
> This is the chapter where we earn our explicit rating as well as the archive warning. Tread carefully. 
> 
> Big thanks to Darry for making this chapter so much better than it was. <3

****  


Natasha’s safe house turns out to be in Turkmenistan. It’s comfortable enough, if a little crowded. There are two bedrooms and a study, as well as a fairly spacious kitchen/living room combo. The downside is that there’s only one bathroom, but they’ve all been in far worse conditions, both separately and together. Hell, Bucky can remember bits and pieces of the war where the Commandos were practically living on top of each other. Only Steve’s lucky ass got his own tent, and even that barely had room for a trunk and a cot. Occasionally, Bucky had been allowed to stay there, in the dead of winter when it had been too cold to sleep alone. Those warm arms, that warm body… he’d thought it was all he’d ever get, and they were the best moments of his life despite the circumstances.

 

They deposit Clint in the study, a pseudo-bedroom that opens directly into the living room. Bucky looks forward to his watch every time. The fear in the Clint-thing’s eyes is very satisfying. He intends to ramp up the anticipation as much as possible before he filets the thing.

 

Natasha does her best to keep Steve and Bucky away from each other, and does a rather admirable job. Sam is trained to deal with people who have PTSD similar to theirs, too, though there’s nothing that can quite prepare someone for these particular issues. Two mutually pining centenarians who have lost and found each other thrice over, separated by jealousy, time, and ocean-deep levels of cynicism? There’s not enough training in the world to cover that.

 

Bucky feels the worst for Wanda, who’s not only recovering from a major injury that nearly resulted in her death, but also has to deal with whatever mental bullshit the two of them are spewing. She’d once confided in Bucky that she occasionally picked up thoughts from other people without even trying, though nothing on the level of the Professor. It made her feel bad, but there was nothing she could do about it besides shielding herself the best she could. She’d never gotten a single peep from Bucky’s thoughts, tightly wrapped as they were, but Steve was another story entirely. And given the circumstances, it’s likely gotten worse, because the strain of being near but at the same time so far from Bucky is killing Steve in every way but the most literal. Everybody can see it, but it’s not like they need to. It’s in Steve’s nature to be thrown by Bucky Barnes.

 

He’s surprised when, two weeks after their arrival, Wanda calls him into the room she shares with Natasha. There’s a soft indent in the right side bed cover where Nat sleeps. At Wanda’s insistence, he settles into it, as well as a man can with a body twice as wide as the spot’s owner.

 

“I am happy you’re here,” Wanda starts, gripping Bucky’s hand much more tightly than she could have even a week ago. “I am happy that Steve is here, too. He was sorely missed even in the few months he was gone.”

 

Bucky says nothing, because it was seventy years, and Bucky’d felt every second, no matter how short it was in the most technical sense.

 

“I know that you sleep on the couch, whenever you do sleep. And when you don’t, you’re outside, prowling the perimeter like a jungle cat.”

 

He looks at her wide blue eyes, guileless and still so strangely young despite the things she’s seen. Not naive, never that again, but hopeful. Believing. Like Steve’s eyes had been so long ago. Bucky wonders when, exactly, that light had faded from his best friend’s eyes. Was it when he left Peggy the first time? When he awakened into a century where he knew nobody and all those he loved were gone?

 

When Bucky had fallen into an icy abyss, all but a corpse?

 

When he’d met Bucky on the bridge?

 

When Bucky had crumbled into dust at his feet?

 

“Bucky,” she says gently, pulling him from his reverie, “you need to talk to him. You can’t go on this way, either of you. Not just for our sakes. I don’t think that’s enough of a reason anymore. Do it for you. Forgive him. at the very least.”

 

“I have,” Bucky insists, though not with as much confidence as he’d intended. “I don’t…” He lets out a frustrated sigh and takes his hand back, sliding it through his hair. “I’ll never agree with what he did. It will always hurt, and I don’t think we can be together, not the way he wants…”

 

“Or the way you want? It’s the same, isn’t it?”

 

Bucky closes his eyes and nods, not trusting his voice. Yes, it’s the same way he wants: everything. All of him.

 

“You know, I fell in love once, too. I only had him for two years, but I’d never trade that time for anything. How many chances do you need before you get your heads out of your asses?”

 

He can’t help but chuckle at her honesty. “It’s not always that simple, Wanda. I wish it were.”

 

“You know I can change reality with my mind, yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You can, too. I swear to you, it doesn’t have to be that complicated. You love each other more than either of you knows how to say. Just please talk to him. Promise me you will.”

 

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat. “I don’t know if I can.”

 

She nods and closes her eyes, leaning back against the pillows, exhaustion clear in the lines of her body, the slow, careful way she moves.

 

“I’ve tired you out,” he says sadly. “I’m sorry.”

 

“The two of you are like screeching animals day and night. It’s much worse than that.”

 

Jesus. He can’t let this go on. Maybe Wanda should go elsewhere to heal; it’s clear that being here isn’t good for her in the long run. Maybe he should leave instead.

 

“I know what you’re thinking, and it won’t work, either. Steve’s mind will always be what it is. And he’s not going to leave me.”

 

“So I have no choice then,” he says, a little sad, a little bitter, and a lot resigned to his fate.

 

“You always have a choice. You didn’t in the past, but you do now. I know you’ll make the right one because you’re a good man. And good men don’t let their friends hurt like this if there’s something to be done about it.”

 

The worst part is, Bucky knows that Wanda is referring to Steve, not herself.

 

He blows out a slow breath, trying to accept the truth. They have to talk.

 

***

 

Wanda’s words bounce around his head often during the next couple of days. They’ve planned a meeting now that she’s mostly mended enough to be up and about. He takes some solace from the fact that she believes him to be a good man, even though he doesn’t agree with her. At least not fully. But he’s still no closer to approaching Steve. Every time he thinks seriously about it, his mind either shies away or the rage comes roaring to the surface once more. It’s better to leave it be until - unless - he can control himself.

 

The way Wanda looks at him seems suspiciously like pity, but she doesn’t say anything, and neither does Bucky. He tells himself there are bigger fish to fry, knowing full well it’s an excuse, but hanging onto it for dear life.

 

“Okay, it’s time to figure this shit out,” Nat says by way of greeting. They’re all crowded in the living room/kitchen area, huddled around the coffee table. Sam and Steve sit like sentries to either side of the Clint-thing’s door. There is still a round-the-clock watch on it; they can never be too careful.

 

“We need allies,” Sam says. “T’Challa is our most powerful, but he’s also the most dangerous if Wakanda has been infiltrated. Strange is still in the wind, I take it?”

 

Natasha nods. “He said he’d be in contact when or if he had a plan of his own. I’m assuming he got caught up in their schemes somehow.”

 

“Seems unwise to assume the worst,” Steve says. “Just as bad as assuming the best.”

 

“I prefer the former. We can work backward from there.”

 

Privately, Bucky agrees with her, but Steve’s a better, more hopeful person than either of them had ever been. That’s been true since 1918 and Steve was naked in a cradle.

 

“Other options?” Wanda asks hopefully. “Danvers?”

 

“Still in space,” Bucky informs her. She’d sent a message to Natasha about a month ago, detailing the rebuilding on Asgard. The bridge won’t be ready for a few more months, so she’s stuck for now.

 

“Anybody heard from Lang?” Sam asks.

 

“Flying under the radar with Hope and his daughter,” Nat says. “Though he is the type to make a miraculous appearance at the last minute,” she adds with a wry smile.

 

“That doesn’t leave us much to work with.” Steve turns to Bucky and opens his mouth, but Bucky cuts him off before he can say it.

 

“No.” It’s nice of Steve to turn to him, to ask before forcing the issue, but god, Bucky doesn’t want to know. Now that it comes down to it… if Shuri or T’Challa are gone… Okoye, M’Baku… all his friends… It might break him.

 

“Bucky - “ Steve starts to plead.

 

“No.”

 

Steve turns to Natasha with a pleading look.

 

“He’s right, Barnes. We’re running out of options. Without Stark and his tech, we need help from somewhere.”

 

“Are you sure we can’t find Strange?” he asks, hating the desperation in his voice.

 

“He said he’ll get hold of me when he can.” Natasha’s voice is so unbearably gentle. She puts a delicate hand on his flesh arm and gives him a soft look that he remembers with sudden clarity from the Red Room. Like a conditioned response, his body lights up with goosebumps. She had been one of the only people to show him any kindness in those days, subtle as it often was. In return, he’d done the same for her. “Steve’s right. We’ve gotta take the chance.”

 

He takes a deep breath and looks at her with sad eyes. Ancient eyes.

 

“Bucky,” Natasha says, softly chiding, “I know you don’t want to know. I know you’re scared. I am, too. T’Challa deserves better. Wakanda. All of us do. But we’ve gotta trust somebody or we’re not getting anywhere and things get worse. We do what we have to. I know you know that.”

 

Bucky wishes he’d never learned that lesson. But Nat’s right.

 

“Yeah,” he concedes, removing her tiny hand from his arm and squeezing it in his vibranium one, careful, oh-so-careful with those baby-bird bones. So much like Steve’s were, once upon a time. He glances at Steve, who is watching him with startling intensity. “We do what we have to do.”

 

“So let’s get it done.”

 

***

 

“Sergeant Barnes. My favorite white boy in the whole world! How are you?”

 

“Busy trying to outrun the latest disaster. You know how it is. I hope you’re well.”

 

“Ah, yes. Shapeshifters. They have been found here, too. My colleagues have developed some technology to help root them out, though. I am hopeful that we can get it out to the rest of the world soon.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, trying so hard to smile, to show that he’s alright, that he’s not utterly terrified of this conversation. “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

 

She gives him her signature grin, the one with sparkles in her eyes, the one that could light up the whole world. _God,_ Bucky misses her. “I guess you’ll have to take a chance, won’t you, Sergeant?”

 

“Bucky, for the last damn time. It’s Bucky.”

 

“Well, I could call you ‘Broken White Boy,’ but you’re not exactly broken now, are you?”

 

Bucky snorts, and he can feel the jealousy coming off of Steve in waves. “Now I know it’s you. Nobody else would say that to the world’s most dangerous assassin.”

 

Shuri scoffs good-naturedly. “We sure do think an awful lot of ourselves, now don’t we? But in all seriousness, Bucky,” she winks, “ask me a question. We made memories long before the Skrull invaded Earth.”

 

There’s caution in Nat’s eyes when he glances over to her. Shuri would have no way of knowing when the Skrull invaded, and if she did, she’d have shared that knowledge as soon as she possibly could’ve. _One of the upsides of Shuri’s genius,_ he thinks, _is that a Skrull couldn’t hope to match it_.

 

It’s probably paranoia on his part, but he asks her the most intimate questions he can, even in front of everyone, including one question about his dick that shocks Steve into a fascinating shade of red.

 

And he’s a damn good actor, if he says so himself. Shuri has no idea that he knows, and neither does the rest of his team. Wanda is the only one who has any idea, and she only knows that something is wrong. He tries to project melancholy, like he misses her. It isn’t that hard. It’s just that the truth is far deeper than that.

 

In the deepest hours of early morning, he takes a trip into the woods surrounding the safehouse and calls T’Challa’s private line. Not even Shuri knows about this one. Bucky’s thankful the king had enough insight… or paranoia… to provide his allies with private lines. (Or at least, he assumes others have one). It’s expected that his sister has one, but it’s unlikely that she suspects that there may be others. Or not. She’s a fucking genius, after all.

 

It’s ass o’clock in Wakanda as well, and T’Challa looks beat to hell and back when he answers Bucky’s call.

 

That changes quickly.

 

“I’m sorry to call you like this. I know it’s been a while.”

 

“She’s one of them, isn’t she.” It isn’t a question. T’Challa can see it in Bucky’s face.

 

“I’m ninety-nine percent certain. And if her counterpart is anywhere near as bright as she is... “

 

“I’m in danger. The world is in danger. Yes. Thank you for letting me know. You may have saved my life, and the lives of those in my kingdom, yet again.”

 

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, voice full of mourning. “Just… Find her.”

 

T’Challa nods, solemn as any king could be. “I swear it.”

 

***

 

Bucky is savagely grateful that, in his absence, the others have gone out. Taken the truck, probably for a supply pickup. Early mornings are the least conspicuous hours of the day to do so, given how little of themselves they can hide. Natasha’s one thing, but the others, particularly Steve, can be spotted a mile off, especially if someone’s looking hard enough.

 

They’ll be gone for at least another… hour or so, depending on when they left. No one to try to stop him, save Sam. No one to hear Clint scream.

 

Steve would tell him he’s a better person than this. Natasha would tell him he’s a better person than this and then join him. Wanda… Well, he’d better get this over with before she gets back. He doesn’t want to hurt her any more than he already has. Shouldn’t be a problem - the Winter Soldier was well-versed in the art of torture by the time they sent him to assassinate Kennedy.

 

Bucky nearly knocks down the rickety door when he storms in. Sam abruptly jerks his head up; caught on the verge of nodding off, he gives Bucky a guilty half-smile. It fades when he sees the fire and brimstone in Bucky’s eyes.

 

He doesn’t argue. Bucky knew that he wouldn’t. Not that it would’ve mattered. Shuri… _Fuck._ His princess is worth a knock-down, drag-out fight with a teammate. Or a friend. Or fucking _anybody_.

 

Once the front door’s closed behind Sam, Bucky gets straight down to business. He throws the Clint-thing, also caught off-guard, to the ground. Puts all his weight on him - no, _it_ \- and spits, “How long?”

 

“Wha?” the creature responds, sleepy-eyed and adorable, and so much like the old Clint, it only ramps up Bucky’s rage to eleven.

 

“How long have you been pretending to be Clint Barton?” Bucky gets out from between his teeth. He’s vibrating with anger so hard, he can barely speak. How dare this creature. How _dare_ it.

 

“Not too long, man. Hey, get offa me! I’m not here for your entertainment!”

 

Bucky punches it. With his flesh hand for now, because he wants it to live long enough to scream and beg for mercy.

 

“I’ll ask you again. And again, until I get a real answer. How. _Long?_ ”

 

Clint rolls its eyes. “New York. I took Maximoff down right after.”

 

 _Thank God_. “You’d better not be lying, you sack of shit.”

 

“Hey now, with the words. That isn’t really necessary, is it?”

 

“Stop!” Another punch. Its nose crunches and sprays blood. The smell is sharp and tangy, and it excites Bucky in a way he’d rather not examine at the moment. Or maybe ever. “Stop pretending to be him!”

 

“Not keepin’ your cool very well, Winter Soldier,” it snickers, the effect of its words ruined somewhat by the nasal tone common to anyone with a broken nose. “Thought you were better trained than that.”

 

 _Fuck_. The thing is right. This isn’t how an interrogation is supposed to go.

 

Does he want it to be an interrogation?

 

_Not really, Barnes. Just face it. You’re a cold-blooded killer. That’s why you were so good at it, even back then, before. Hydra didn’t need to teach you much._

 

Still, he stands up and walks to the other side of the room to collect his thoughts. He’s carrying so much rage, so fucking _much,_ that it’s hard to think. But if they want to get out of this mess, they might need this abomination. Though it probably isn’t important enough to be a hostage - is any individual Skrull? He knows so little about them. How manipulative they can be. How much of them is made up of the person they’re pretending to be. If this even affects them.

 

Who fucking cares? This is for Bucky. For Shuri. For _Clint,_ who may not even be alive anymore. Who still has a _family._

 

He struts the few steps to get in its face again, causing it to back up, slowly, against the far wall, at the edge of the house. Caution is written on its face now, and a little bit of fear.

 

Maybe this does affect the Skrull. He can only hope.

 

“I’ve decided you’re right,” Bucky breathes, hot air on the thing’s face. “I was trained for this. I was _created_ for this. But I also don’t particularly care if it really hurts you or not. I’ve had a rough few months. Hell, a rough seventy-odd years. Life wasn’t a peach before that, either. I’ve got enough anger trapped inside me, even the pits of Hell couldn’t hold it all. So for the next hour or so, I’m going to systematically break you the best way I know how.”

 

It swallows, clearly afraid now. “Then do your worst,” it says, voice breaking, sending a shiver of satisfaction along Bucky’s spine. “Not like I can stop you anyway.”

 

“No,” Bucky agrees. “You really can’t.”

 

The first thing he does is kick the creature’s knees, breaking the joints. It falls with a comical _oof_ to the ground. There’s no screaming yet, but its pitiful whine gets Bucky’s blood pumping, adrenaline climbing. He’d done this so casually as the Winter Soldier, docile and obedient, not unable or unwilling to enjoy it, but rather unknowing in his actions. Not really understanding it as anything other than a mission.

 

He’s a little sick to his stomach that he, Bucky Barnes - or at least as much Bucky Barnes as he’ll ever get back from the clutches of Hydra - is enjoying this… but only a little.

 

These people were his _friends_.

 

He kneels next to it and casually breaks each of its fingers next. Once its hands are misshapen like alien claws, he stands back and up and contemplates what to do next.

 

Its whimpers, while satisfactory, are nowhere near loud or pathetic enough.

 

Time to ramp it up, then.

 

The knife he pulls from his boot is long. Sharp, almost like a surgical blade. Too sharp, he decides. Doesn’t hurt enough, and this thing will bleed out too quickly if he uses it. No, if he wants death by a thousand cuts, he needs a blunter blade.

 

He finds one in the kitchen, a steak knife that’s been nicely sharpened, but not obsessively so, the way his own knives are. It will work perfectly. The sounds of fear escalate as he brandishes the weapon in front of the creature, toying with it.

 

But when Bucky gets down to business, he’s no longer playing.

 

The thing is, westerners believe that ‘death by a thousand cuts’ means tiny cuts here and there across the skin. Which isn’t completely wrong, but it’s not the whole story, either. It also means cutting off entire limbs, extremities, one by one. Fingers, toes. Feet and hands. Arms. Legs. Then the nose, ears, and eyes. Done by a professional, it can last a long time.

 

Bucky doesn’t intend to kill the thing, though, so he plans carefully. What can he remove? Extremities, limbs. Yes. He can leave it a torso and nothing more, though that would require the team to carry it like a sack of flour. He can’t help but snicker at that mental picture. Steve, eyeing Bucky reproachfully, carrying a creature that looks like one of his closest friends. One of _their_ closest friends.

 

He probably won’t go that far. Doesn’t have the time or the tools.

 

He’s on his seventeenth cut overall, first toe, and ninth finger when he hears the others approaching the house. It’s been a few minutes since he’s used the knife, and the Clint-thing isn’t making enough noise to alert them until they walk through the door. Bucky decides to at least clean the blood off his body with the towel he’d grabbed from the kitchen. He’s staring down at the creature, contemplating what else he might be able to get away with, when Steve draws a shocked breath behind him.

 

“Bucky, stop!”

 

Steve’s warm hand grabs his flesh shoulder and tries to twist him around, away from Clint’s doppelganger. Bucky’s not as big as he used to be, not like when Steve found him - and uprooted his entire life - in Bucharest, but his center of gravity is lower and he’s able to plant himself in place. Steve can move him, of course he can, but he’s gonna have a helluva time doing so.

 

Distantly, Bucky can recognize the conversation between Steve and Sam.

 

_Why didn’t you stop him?_

 

_You expect me to stop that? He’s a rage inferno, Steve. I like my life._

 

The Clint-thing is a bruised, bloody, barely-recognizable mess of flesh lying on his side on the floor. Bucky kicks it for the umpteenth time, this time in the dick. Its voice is too hoarse to scream anymore, so it’s back to pitiful mewling sounds. _Full circle,_ Bucky thinks vindictively.

 

But Steve is - has always been - a fucking dog with a bone when he wants something, so Bucky, despite his best efforts to ignore him, finds himself thrown across the room. Steve’s perfect chest heaves as he stands protectively in front of Bucky’s victim.

 

 _He’s fucking suicidal. We’ve gotta stop them. Together, we can do it_ , Sam says behind him.

 

 _Leave him be_ , Nat responds coldly. _They need to do this._

 

Bucky and Steve stare at each other for several moments, tension taut as a mooring cable in the room, before Bucky breaks the painful silence.

 

“Why bother, Steve? You know that thing deserves it,” he spits.

 

“How do we know it’s not the real Clint? Can we tell for sure?”

 

“Wanda can tell.”

 

“Okay,” Steve acknowledges. “I believe Wanda. _If_ she says that. But nobody deserves that kind of treatment.”

 

“Good thing it’s not a person, then,” Bucky says in a voice somehow dry and yet dripping with malice. “Now move, unless you want me to take this out on you.”

 

Steve’s head tilts to the right as he gives Bucky a considering look. Bucky can tell when the pieces fall into place, when Steve adds two plus two and gets the obvious fucking answer. His face softens into sadness. Concern.

 

Pity.

 

“Shuri,” he whispers. “God, Buck, I’m so sorry.”

 

Bucky doesn’t confirm or deny, which is an answer in itself. Steve knows him too well anyway. Even if he’d lied, Steve would know.

 

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he says after a beat. “Or your empathy, and especially not your _pity_ .” His voice rises in volume until the last word is practically a scream. “Now _get out!_ ”

 

Steve swallows but stays there, like the world’s most annoying tree, the one that grows on your land, through your house, through your damn body.

 

“I’ve a better idea,” he says, soft but strong, nearly defiant but tempered by, Bucky hates to admit, love. Love that shines through his gorgeous blue eyes. There’s something there that Bucky can’t define, too, and _god_ , that hurts, not being able to read his - best friend? Ex-best friend? Would-be star crossed lover? the same way Steve can still read him. The shaking in Steve’s normally steady hands scares Bucky a bit, too.

 

“So spit it out then. I haven’t got all day.”

 

“Do it.”

 

“... Do what?”

 

“Take it out on me.”

 

Bucky’s first reaction is shock, because _what?_ He’s gaping unattractively, he knows, but he doesn’t have words for this. Nobody should have words for this.

 

“The hell does that even mean?”

 

“It means,” Steve says, head held high like always, sure he’s doing the capital R, capital T right thing. “Take it out on me. Do what you have to do.”

 

Steve takes a step forward; Bucky takes one back. He is horrified like he hasn’t been since… well, since he recognized Steve on the helicarrier.

 

“You’re not my punching bag, Steve. No matter how mad I am at you, I can’t do that.”

 

“Maybe I don’t mean it that way, did you ever think of that?”

 

What does that…

 

Oh.

 

 _Oh_.

 

“You… you are a fucking idiot,” he snaps, angry again despite himself. This emotional rollercoaster he’s been on for the past half-month is getting nauseating. “I’m not going to… _Jesus,_ Rogers. Have you lost your damn mind?”

 

Steve - the asshole - gets this ridiculous look on his face, and Bucky can read this one. It’s the one where Steve is thinking of the best way to piss off his rival enough to get them to fight back.

 

His _rival_. Is that what they’ve become?

 

“Steve, don’t - “

 

“I loved her. I went back because I loved her.”

 

Wow. _Wow._ That hurts worse than a punch to the gut or the dick or any part of his body.

 

“It doesn’t mean I loved you any less,” Steve continues relentlessly.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“It wasn’t an easy choice, no matter what you think.”

 

“Shut _up_ , you manipulative _asshole!”_

 

“And I didn’t know… but I thought that, perhaps, I’d get a chance with you, too. In the end. Greedy, I guess.”

 

“And is this the chance you wanted? _Is it?_ ”

 

Steve shrugs, looking fatalistic about the whole thing. “If it’s all I get? Yes.” He meets Bucky’s eyes, his own swirling with so many emotions Bucky couldn’t hope to identify all of them. “Yes,” he repeats, all sadness and defiance and undying, unyielding love, enough to sacrifice even this for his best friend.

 

And it _breaks him._

 

Bucky’s on him faster than even he thought he could move. Steve gasps as Bucky smashes their mouths together, immediately demanding access to all Steve has to give. And he gives it, he yields, like the bastard never has in his entire life. Not to anyone.

 

 _Fuck_ , it drives Bucky mad. That he would do this. That either of them would hurt each other this much.

 

But he’s not a good enough man to say no. It might be all he can give Steve, too, after all.

 

“Yes, _god_ yes,” Steve breathes against his mouth as Bucky digs under his ass, picks him up like he’s a piece of lettuce, and pushes him up against the wall. He wraps his legs around Bucky’s hips and hangs on for dear life.

 

Bucky crowds him, so close he’s sure Steve can feel him hardening against his balls, so fast he’s nearly dizzy with it. At least as much as his sweatpants allow, and thank heavens he is not wearing jeans. He can also feel how hard Steve is against him, so hard against his stomach it actually hurts.

 

Steve’s eyes are closed as he leans back against the wall; he’s so pliant, willing, like putty in Bucky’s arms. He never, not in a million years, thought he’d see Steve like this, not even during sex. Steve is willing to give everything he has, and Bucky… Bucky can’t stop himself from taking it.

 

He leans in and bites Steve’s bottom lip until it bleeds, then sucks the coppery taste into his mouth. Steve moans like a two-penny French whore and thrusts up against Bucky’s stomach. Bucky doesn’t make a noise, not a whimper, even as his answering thrust drags his dick against the bottom of Steve’s pelvis.

 

The need for friction nearly overrides his higher functioning, but more importantly, he needs to get _in_ Steve, needs to feel his heat surrounding him, needs to know that Steve is his in the most intimate way imaginable. So he holds Steve by the hips to stop his movement, which makes Steve groan in protest, but Bucky stays firm. He pushes Steve against the wall and holds him there, freeing his hands to tug both of their pants and underwear down.

 

He’s proud of himself when he manages to stop long enough to ensure Steve still wants this, wants it _like_ this. He’s not willing to rape the man he loves. But Steve’s eyes are open now, to little slits at least, and Bucky can see nothing but pure desire in them now, crowding out everything else.

 

Bucky locks his eyes on the target, refusing to look away as he pushes inside. Steve doesn’t, either, not even when the first wave of pain hits him, when his sphincter tightens instinctively around the intrusion. Bucky isn’t even sure how this is possible, for Steve to take him like this, unstretched and dry as he is. It’s not Steve’s first picnic, that’s for sure, but Bucky’s willing to bet that Steve’s never taken it in the ass before. Maybe he’s wrong, but he doesn’t think so.

 

Once he’s bottomed out, a long, slow, dry, _hot_ slide, he leans forward, forehead against Steve’s, and shudders. He’s so close to coming he can almost taste it, is almost too far gone to avoid it. He bites his lip and swallows, using every ounce of willpower the Winter Soldier possesses to keep himself here, inside his best friend, his life’s love, his Steve.

 

When Bucky’s pretty sure he can hold off, he starts to pull back, slowly, just like he went in. Steve whimpers, dry sobs, with pain or joy or whatever else. Bucky doesn’t care. Steve could fight him off if he didn’t want it anymore, so until or unless that happens, he’s finishing what the other man started.

 

Steve yells loud enough to wake the dead when Bucky pushes inside again, forcefully making a path for his dick despite the continued resistance.

 

“Holy… yes, more, _mor_ e,” Steve begs, and Bucky can’t say no to that, either - he starts fucking Steve for all he’s worth, knowing Steve can take whatever Bucky dishes out. It’s all whimpers and cries, little _ah-ah-ahs_ Steve makes when Bucky thrusts into him. He’s so fucking tight it’s unbelievable, almost like an actual vise around his cock. It is, hands-down, the most incredible thing he’s ever experienced.

 

Steve starts saying his name like a prayer, his ass getting tighter and tighter around Bucky’s cock as he gets closer to orgasm. His legs shake and his stomach tightens, and Bucky, struck by a curious thought, reaches out with his vibranium hand and chokes Steve. Not enough to cut off air or blood flow entirely, but close. Steve’s eyes widen as he starts to come and come and come, and his ass is so fucking tight it makes Bucky absolutely _lose_ it. The plaster between the sitting room and hallway starts to crack as Bucky follows his lover over the edge.

 

When it’s over, he gently sets Steve down, helping him to the floor when his legs give out. Steve leans back and tries to catch his breath, while Bucky stands there, watching him. Wondering what the hell came over him, saying yes to such a request.

 

Then he looks down. Bad idea; he stares at the blood on his dick in shocked silence, mouth working but no sound coming out.

 

“Who am I that I’d do that to you? Who are _you_ that you’d let me do that to _myself_?” Bucky asks hoarsely when he can find his voice.

 

“An asshole,” Steve says with a sigh. “It worked, though, didn’t it?”

 

Bucky thinks about that, looking deep within himself for an honest answer. What he comes up with is both _yes_ and _no_.

 

“If what you mean is whether I want to hurt another person, then yes. It did. But the price I paid… Jesus, the price _you_ paid… I don’t know if it was worth it.” The worst part is, Bucky knows it wasn’t just Steve’s manipulation that got them here. He could’ve said no at any time, too. He could’ve walked away, could’ve asked the others for help in getting Steve out of his way. Or even getting Bucky out of his own way.

 

He’d let this happen, too.

 

“I need to go,” he says, voice wavering the way it did when he was first captured. Full of fear, and the knowledge that he could never come back from this. “I can’t… I need to go,” he repeats, and turns his back, unable to look at Steve any longer.

 

“I know,” he hears Steve murmur behind him. “But I’m still here. I always will be.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Some Silhouette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Please note the additional tags. Everything will be fixed in the next chapter. If you can't handle it, skip to the middle of the next chapter. Personally, I hope you enjoy the angst, because the finale is that much sweeter.
> 
> I was also told that I needed to warn for the fact that Bucky kills a deer for food.

 

Bucky is aware of eyes on him as he leaves the house. Everyone is outside, avoiding… whatever it was that had happened between Steve and him. Natasha had grabbed the Clint-thing and taken it to the truck; Sam is currently doing his best to patch it up. 

 

Bucky stalks over to the driver’s side door and stands there, Sam sighs and won’t meet his eyes, but gets the message quickly enough -  _ move this thing back into the house so I can leave. _ Wanda is holding her head in her hands, kneeling on the ground at the treeline, several hundred feet away. Bucky takes a moment to feel sorry for her, because she didn’t deserve that. Nobody did, not even Steve. Natasha watches him coolly, dangling the truck keys in front of his face. 

 

She clears her throat as he not-so-gently takes them from her. “I hope you feel better.” she says, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s sarcasm or not. 

 

He meets her eyes but quickly looks away. If she sees the shame in them, she doesn’t acknowledge it. Hell, of all people, she’d be most likely to understand. 

 

“I get it, you know,” she tells him as he climbs into the cab. He wants to close the door, end this conversation before it can even begin, but she’s standing in the way. “You had to do it. Him, too.”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky allows, voice subdued. “But at what cost?”

 

Her eyes, when he dares to look at them again, are more contemplative than sad. “Kind of depends on you now, I think. Steve has made his point.”

 

“I’m not really sure I understand it,” he admits. “He doesn’t always make sense, other than that self-sacrificing streak that he’s never gotten rid of. Seems to me this was just more of that.”

 

“Do you really think that, or are you bullshitting yourself, Barnes?”

 

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Really considers the question. “I don’t honestly know. Nothing makes much sense right now.”

 

“Then go. Make sense of it. Come back with a clear head, because we need you.”

 

“I know that.” Of course he does. “I’m not gonna run off, Natasha. You don’t really think so little of me, do you?”

 

“I never did,” she says, eyes clear, hiding nothing. Who is  _ she _ to put that much faith in him?

 

“Because of the Red Room, or something else?”

 

“Because I know how to read people. It’s kind of my specialty,” she adds with a wry smile.

 

“I’ll be back,” he tells her, suddenly tired beyond his years. “Just… give me a while, okay?”

 

“Of course. Then we’ll figure this mess out.” 

 

Bucky isn’t sure which mess she means, the Skrull or his relationship with Steve. At this point, it doesn’t matter anyway. They’re inexorably tied to each other for now. It is what it is.

 

***

 

He returns several hours later covered in blood and carrying the carcass of a small deer on his back, a bullet hole straight between its eyes. Luck had been on his side; he’d pulled over and walked for a while before catching a fresh trail. Curious, he’d followed it, and found this pretty young girl. Sniper training had kicked in, and ten minutes later, he’d scored the group fresh meat for dinner.

 

Bucky deposits the carcass on the front step. Sam whistles and slaps him on the back as though nothing had happened earlier. Maybe bringing venison home for dinner is miraculous enough to forgive anybody after you’ve eaten nothing but dried jerky and cereal for a month. 

 

“Venison on the porch,” he informs everyone, sticking his head in the door. His teammates are sitting around the table in the same configuration as their earlier meeting. Natasha, busy at her laptop screen, gives him a thumbs up without looking. Steve, who is nearest the door, perks up at the mention of food. He walks past Bucky on his way out the door, fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder. Bucky shivers and forces himself to walk into the house and away from Steve. Now that he’s had contact, he craves more. Violently or not, he needs to touch Steve like a man in the desert needs water. 

 

Instead, Bucky goes straight to Wanda and sits next to her, then meets her eyes in silent apology. 

 

“You don’t have to say anything,” she murmurs, low enough that nobody else can hear. “Your minds are clearer now. I’m sorry you had to go through it to get here, though.”

 

“No,” Bucky says, imploring, “No, you had to go through it with us, and that’s on  _ us _ .”

 

“Please don’t apologize. It’s quieter now. Just don’t do anything stupid, either of you. I know I’m asking a lot though, right?” she asks with a small smile, green eyes twinkling. It’s the youngest she’s looked since before this whole mess started. 

 

“The Barnes-Rogers duet has never exactly been in perfect tune, but I think… I think maybe we’ll figure it out. Someday,” he hedges. There’s a sense of cautious hope that hadn’t been there before, though. 

 

“I am happy to hear it.”

 

Natasha closes her laptop and sets it down on the table, then stands up to stretch. Bucky winces with her when she tweaks her neck, a reminder that none of them are getting any younger. Or older, as the case is for at least one of them, if not two.

 

“I take it the boys are prepping dinner?” she asks Bucky.

 

Bucky lays his head on Wanda’s shoulder and leans in to her. With a sense of acceptance also comes a sense of exhaustion, it seems. “That’s my guess. I sure as hell ain’t doin’ it.”

 

Nat grins at him fondly. “Not a fan of gutting the local wildlife for sustenance? Color me shocked.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks. 

 

“We’ve had this discussion. Creature comforts, remember?”

 

“Sure, but this isn’t exactly new. I mean, I did it when I had to, both as the Winter Soldier and in the Army, but Steve works magic with his hands. He could prepare dinner by himself faster than the entire squad could during the war. I can remember one time he snuck up - yeah, Steve, I know, but he did it somehow - on this deer, man… so majestic. King of the forest, I reckoned. And Steve snapped its neck like it was nothing, then sliced it up like he was a professional chef, right in front of us. Never knew he could do that, bad as his cooking was in Brooklyn.”

 

Bucky can hear a bit of his old Brooklyn accent slipping into his speech. He’d thought he’d lost that a long time ago. Maybe if he spent more time with the good memories instead of the bad ones, he’d feel like his old self more often. As close to it as he’d ever get, anyway.

 

“Well, we can have dinner first,” Nat allows, “but I’ve got good news twice over, finally.”

 

Dinner’s never tasted so sweet after hearing that.

  
  


***

  
  


Once they’ve finished the venison, Nat wastes no time getting started. Steve is still attempting to clear dishes from the table and gives her a dirty look, which she ignores.

 

“I heard from T’Challa and Strange today.”

 

Bucky leans forward and opens his mouth, but Natasha raises a hand to stop him. 

 

“He’s trying, Barnes. I promise. That’s why he’s not able to help us himself, but he’s sending M’Baku and the Dora Milaje to meet us in London.”

 

“Why London?” Sam asks. “There’s a Sanctum there, I know, but hasn’t it been overrun?”

 

“It’s not a safe place by any means, but when has that ever mattered for us? The point is, the portal they’re coming through is there. Strange has been traveling the realms for some time looking for the key to closing it. We don’t have the ability, unfortunately.”

 

Steve sits down, wiping his hands on a towel. He looks thoughtful. “So what do we do?”

 

“Hold the Inner Sanctum until help comes.”

 

“What happens if they get out into the world?” Bucky wants to know. 

 

Wanda looks at him, face grim and determined. “They already are. Now that I know what to look for, I can remember the feeling from fighting in New York. And I’ve felt it since then, in civilians. Not often, but even one time is bad.”

 

Sam sucks on his lower lip, deep in thought. “Shit. How do we get rid of them, then?”

 

“Isolate them,” Nat replies. “There aren’t enough of them to take over without more coming through the portal. Their leaders will be easy to pinpoint once that portal is closed, and since they’ll be cut off from any other support…” she shrugs. “Then we can start learning how to defend ourselves.”

 

“But how?” Bucky asks. 

 

“The Kree. They’re an ancient race that have been battling the Skrull for longer than humanity’s been around. This is old hat to them.”

 

“Strange got in touch with them somehow?”

 

“Doctor Strange had hoped humanity could do it without their help. It’ll come at a cost. But we do what we have to do.”

 

Steve looks down at the table, sadness in his eyes, and says, “Yes, we do,” and suddenly Bucky has an epiphany. Peggy hadn’t just meant love; she’d meant peace, as well. Sixty-some odd years of it. Had he stayed with Bucky, he wouldn’t have just missed out on his chance with his best gal. He wouldn’t have gotten a rest, either. And Bucky remembers how sad Steve’s eyes had been, every time they’d seen each other after Bucky had come out of cryo. Every time they’d chatted over T’Challa’s remote communication system. 

 

And now he’s here again, saving the world. Bucky wonders if the price Steve had paid for Erskine’s serum was worth it. Would Bucky have saved him this heartache if he could? Would he have told Steve the cost beforehand? Left him to his own devices? He doesn’t know the answer.

 

Steve looks at him then, and Bucky pours every ounce of compassion he possesses into his gaze. His best friend’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. Bucky nods, nearly imperceptibly:  _ I get it now. _ It’s not as easy to forgive him for it, even though there hadn’t been a right answer, but now at least there’s more clarity, more  _ context. _

 

Natasha wears a wistful half-smile as she waits for them to stop their weird non-verbal communication, which she quickly hides as soon as Bucky turns his gaze back to her. He wonders what she’d been thinking of, if it was Banner or some other, broader regret. 

 

“What about Tony?” Wanda eventually asks. “He’s got to be one of the higher-ranking Skrull. Shuri, too. And they’re the world’s biggest geniuses, both of them.”

 

Bucky answers before Nat can. “We can’t kill them until the real Shuri and Tony are found. If we do, they’ll have no reason to keep either of them alive.”

 

“How do we know they kept them alive to begin with?” Steve asks curiously.

 

“It’s how they operate, according to Xavier,” Natasha answers. “Anyone who can’t be easily copied or higher up the social food chain wouldn’t be killed outright, in case the Skrull need information.”

 

Steve makes a considering face. “Do we make that our priority then? Is holding the portal more important?”

 

“We’ll do what we need to do when we get there.”

 

There it is again:  _ We’ll do what we need to do _ . But this time, Shuri’s life is at stake. He isn’t going to let her die, no matter what anyone says. He’ll find a way to rescue her if it’s the last thing he does.

 

Steve is looking at him again, reading him the way he’s always done. There’s defiance in Bucky’s eyes and understanding in Steve’s. And a promise once again. 

 

No.  _ Still. _

 

_ I’m with you. _

  
  


***

 

The actual fighting is tougher than Bucky remembers. He’s high up on a building, staring down at the world below, trying to figure out who the bad guys are. It is, he reflects, the biggest downside to facing shapeshifters. But he trusts in Wanda to guide him, so he steps into the mind of the Winter Soldier and paints the targets she leads him to as red as her own magic. 

 

He does his best to ignore Steve. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, because they’d come to an understanding, as fucked-up as that had been, and Steve fights like a man with something to live for. If Bucky can be that thing… if Steve can, against all odds, survive another life-threatening encounter… the Winter Soldier is hard to hang on to when he considers that.

 

So he doesn’t.

 

He’s reloading from the massive ammo pack on his hip for the umpteenth time, deep in the steady flow of combat, when familiar lightning strikes the early evening sky. 

 

“Thor?” Steve asks under his breath. Bucky remains silent, but echoes the sentiment. They’d watched Thor fall to Thanos’ magic, one of many sacrifices that had to be made in order to win the day. Amongst all the Avengers, only he and Vision had lost their lives, a miracle any way Bucky can slice it. 

 

But no, this  _ woman _ is not Thor, despite being blonde and built like a brick shithouse.

 

“Hi,” Steve says, introducing himself. “I’m Steve Rogers. I hope you’re here to help us,” he adds, eyeing the new arrival with awe in his eyes. Bucky nearly snorts into the comm unit at the look on Steve’s face. “You look…” Terrifying. “Well, you remind me of someone I used to know, that’s all.”

 

“Ah yes, Captain Rogers, I am afraid we’ve never really explained much about ourselves.” Her voice is rich, in the lower range of a human female but feminine nonetheless. Yet it is also unmistakably Thor’s voice. 

 

Steve takes it in stride. “So explain then,” he says, flattening a green-skinned Skrull with his fist. 

 

“In the midst of a fight?” Thor - Lady Thor? - asks, amused.

 

“Doesn’t seem like there’s a better time.”

 

“Let us just say that what you see is what you get,” Lady Thor responds, throwing her weapon and taking out an entire unit of the creatures. It grants them a reprieve. Bucky keeps an eye on the front steps of the Sanctum as he carefully listens to the conversation. “Are you and the Sergeant well?” she asks in a knowing voice.

 

To Bucky’s surprise, Steve doesn’t blanch. He takes a breath and says steadily, “Better than we were. Why are you here?”

 

“Am I not an Avenger?” she asks with mirth in her voice.

 

Steve starts to say something - Bucky doesn’t know what - when the Kree ship arrives. It’s massive, overtaking the London skyline in style, a mechanical eagle far beyond anything humankind has ever created. The sound is deafening, even floating so high in the sky. 

 

Bucky carefully packs up his rifle and rappels his way down the side of the building. The group of warriors - the four of them, M’Baku and the Dora Milaje, and Lady Thor - await what comes a mere block from the London Sanctum. 

 

As they watch, a small shuttle detaches itself from the ship and floats down to settle in the street near them. Two young women and a matriarch step out, honing in on them, the remaining leaders of humankind. 

 

“We are the Kree,” one of the women says, the eldest. “We are here to help you with your little... problem.”

 

Steve and Bucky exchange glances, and Bucky is thankful that he’s finally able to once again read what Steve is telling him:  _ We don’t have much choice but to trust them _ . Bucky nods tightly, and the group follows the Kree toward the Sanctum.

 

The sidewalk and steps of the Sanctum are covered in dead bodies, some human, some not. When death comes, the doppelgangers slowly revert back to their original forms, green turning to the grey of death, eerily similar to the rotting human corpses in that way. It’s unfortunate that many people will never have closure, since they won’t be able to identify their loved ones’ bodies. Bucky spares a moment to mourn them. 

 

But the group is used to tragedy. They avoid and ignore the bodies, allowing the Kree guards to surround them and close ranks as they enter the Sanctum. The major portal is somewhere in this building. Bucky can’t help looking around for it, afraid of what might come pouring out of it at any moment.

 

The same woman who had spoken earlier, likely some high-ranking matriarch, notices his watchfulness. 

 

“We’ve got a few minutes before they get past our defenses.”

 

“Where are they located? Where are your defenses?”

 

“It’s complicated,” comes Strange’s deep voice from behind them. He looks disheveled, even more than during their last stand against Thanos. “They’re over Earth and elsewhere in space all at once.”

 

“Okay,” Steve says slowly, “what does that mean for us?”

 

“It means you’ve got a job to do,” the matriarch states. “Our defenses are holding in another sector of space; we need yours around the planet. There’s a ship outside the city, and we’re amassing soldiers as we speak. You’ll be going to space. But not all of you will lead the fight.”

 

“What will we be doing, then?” Natasha asks with a note of caution. 

 

“Two of your leaders are held in their ship. We need their expertise in aiding the building of your own defenses once this group, this battle is over.”

 

“Shuri,” Bucky breathes.

 

“Clint?” Natasha adds, and Bucky feels bad for forgetting him in favor of his best gal.

 

“Yes. And the one called Stark as well.”

 

“Can you tell me how long she’s been captive?” Bucky asks, hoping it hasn’t been long. If their relationship, their love for each other is nothing more than a farce, it might break him like nothing has since ‘45. Maybe not even since Steve had left him. Steve had made a choice, and Bucky’d had to live with it. But Shuri? She would’ve been taken, used against her will. The thought makes him nauseous.

 

“Not long, we think,” one of the other women states. Bucky nearly sags with relief. Steve steps close to him and Bucky leans in to him, thankful for his warm presence. “A week at most.”

 

“That’s good,” Nat says, shooting Bucky a sympathetic glance. “When do we go?”

 

The matriarch laughs, apparently delighted with these strange humans. “No more questions, then?”

 

“I’m sure we’ll be briefed on the way up,” Nat responds drily.

 

“Indeed. Let us be on our way then.”

 

***

 

They leave M’Baku and Wanda behind to help guard the Sanctum. Wanda hugs them all, with a special entreaty to Bucky to watch over Steve. He merely nods, but his mind screams in big black letters:  _ Always. _ She smirks at him, happy for him somehow, despite the odd mix of emotions he still feels, and prepares for battle. M’Baku has nothing more than a handshake for the group, but he grasps Bucky’s forearm particularly tightly and promises he’ll gut Bucky like a fish if harm comes to Shuri. Bucky grins, wide and feral, and tells him he’s counting on it.

 

The spaceship is a much smaller, sleeker version of the one in the sky. Closer to a modern airplane than a bird, it shoots them rapidly upward. They look ready to throw up, the lot of them, save Lady Thor, who seems to find their discomfort charming. Thankfully, the ride only takes a few minutes. 

 

Even Steve, ever stoic, can’t hide his awe at the sight before him. A massive space battle, rivaling the best video games Bucky’s ever played - and he’d played a lot while under T’Challa’s watch - is spread out before him. The Kree ship glides effortlessly through the fray, dodging enemy and friendly fire alike, to land like a bug on the side of the Skrull’s biggest ship. 

 

“This is the hard part,” their pilot tells them, pivoting in his seat toward the scrunched-up passengers. Strange, beside him in the copilot seat, does the same. “We’re going to make you a portal right here in the ship. Right here in the gap between you and me. It’s going to be small, and you will have to crawl through, and you’re going to end up in the area just aft of the brig, toward the left lower side of the ship. From there, it’s up to you. We think they’ll hold your people just a floor or two above your position, from past experience anyway, but there’s no guarantee. Once you’ve found them, use this communicator to signal our forces.” He gives each of them a small earpiece, barely noticeable even if they’re looking for it. 

 

Bucky’s eyes flick to Doctor Strange, asking wordlessly if he’s coming along. Strange shakes his head, indicating that his skills would be more useful with the fleet. Bucky worries that they will need Strange, even with the five of them, but says nothing.

 

“Any other advice?” Steve asks.

 

“Get it done,” says the pilot, and without further preamble, Strange opens the portal with a small flick of his wrist.

 

Bucky doesn’t spend time wondering how that’s possible; he just gets in line behind the others and waits for his turn. Without words, they decide to allow Lady Thor in first, followed by Steve, Nat, Sam, and finally Bucky. 

 

The ship itself is quiet. It almost feels deserted, no noise from inside or outside. Nothing to suggest there’s a huge battle a few hundred yards away, though it does occur to him that, without air, perhaps space battles are completely silent. That is a strange thought he’ll have to revisit later. Bucky doesn’t waste time admiring the ship’s architects, either, not even when his eyes adjust and he gets a good glimpse of the place. But man, is it hard not to stop and stare.

 

Running lights show the way down the long, thin corridors. They have to move single-file through this section of the ship. Occasionally, they pass a window; looking through reveals pristine, neatly-kept rooms that are obviously made for political prisoners. Between these rooms are grandiose murals, stylized to represent the greatness of the Skrull. All of the doppelgangers are shown in their true forms, sometimes overlaying the real bodies of those they’ve replaced. Even in the dim visibility of the running lights, Bucky can appreciate the artistry. It’s unique and alien in a way he’d never imagined something could be.

 

As they continue down the hall, the paintings become more and more violent, blood and death on gory display. The cells they pass are less inviting, as well. This is likely where the… less political prisoners are kept. 

 

None of the cells hold Shuri or Tony, though.

 

“Two floors up, he said?” Steve asks quietly. 

 

“Yeah, but where’s the elevator? Or stairs? How do the Skrull even move about the ship?” Sam wonders aloud. 

 

Natasha, more silent than an actual cat, answers. “There are stairs. Should be nearby. There’s a T-junction up ahead, and the corridor will widen. They’ll be nearby.”

 

“How come we weren’t given access to the blueprints?” Sam grumbles.

 

The corridor turns right in a weird loopy arc, and does, indeed, end in a T-junction, with their hallway one arm. The opposite arm ends with a set of stairs.

 

“What would we have done without you?” Sam asks. Nat preens like the cat Bucky is suddenly half-certain she is, but Sam lets off the air breaks and snaps, “No, seriously. What happens if you get taken or, heaven forbid, die?”

 

“Steve looked at it, too, and he has an eidetic memory. And the Lady Thor has faced them before.”

 

“Still leaves me and jerkface out of the loop.”

 

Bucky bites his lip to hold in the laughter. If only Sam knew how much he sounds like Steve sometimes.

 

Steve shushes them as they approach the stairs, and Thor turns around. It’s still odd to see the old Thor’s features in hers, but her mannerisms are almost exactly the same - exaggerated, friendly, alien. 

 

“I’ve seen this kind of ship before. They’ll be right above us, but guarded. Perhaps heavily, I don’t know. Be ready.”

 

And as predicted, as soon as Thor reaches the top of the stairs, the Skrull yell in their strange tongue and attack. Bucky’s wondering why they didn’t let Natasha lead after the initial jump through the portal, considering Thor is the exact opposite of subtle, especially since Natasha knows her way around, but fuck it. Too late to talk tactics now. 

 

The stairs are in the corner, providing cover for the group. Given the way Thor has positioned himself near the top step, taking heavy machine-gun fire and wielding his - her - new weapon, maybe it was a good idea for her to lead, because _holy shit_ these animals can fuck shit up. They’re not even using lasers or even armor-piercing rounds; it’s the guns they are fired from that make them deadly. Even with the shield in front of him, Steve is knocked down fairly quickly and has to crawl for cover on the opposite side of the door from Thor. Natasha squeezes against the side of the wall and throws knives around the corner, aiming flawlessly and taking down several of the creatures before moving back for a breather. Sam rearranges his wings to the smaller, jet-propelled version Stark had given him immediately after the war, and flies into the fray. The room isn’t big enough for the full spread, but it’s enough for him to fly around it à la Iron Man. He’s damn fast for an otherwise unremarkable human, and no, Bucky’s not going to be sorry for thinking of him in that manner.

 

And Bucky? Well, as they say, only fools rush in. And Bucky’s nothing if not a damn fool. His fucked-up relationship with Rogers proves that.

 

“Figure out where we’re headed from here,” he mutters to Natasha before going in, and she gives him a look like  _ No shit, Sherlock _ . “And stay back here.”  _ Don’t be like me _ , his eyes say. She purses her lips and practically pushes him out of the stairwell. 

 

Bucky’s conscious mind goes blank as he takes in the scene. Two more exits, in two other ‘corners;’ the room is a strange oblong shape with curving walls, making it feel even more alien. There aren’t many of the creatures, maybe four left after his teammates have thrown their shields and knives and alien weapons of utterly ridiculous DPS rates, and Bucky is  _ hungry. _ He takes down two with his Sig Sauer, and is aiming at a third when Sam takes that one out with his own gun. 

 

Bucky glares, because that one was his. Sam just glares back, somehow smug.

 

“If you two are done aiming nonverbal insults at each other, we should continue,” Steve says with an amused smile. “Is anybody hurt?” 

 

“Got scraped, which threw me off. That’s why I was only able to get two targets, thank you very much,” Sam says, showing his scuffed armor. There’s a scratch at the hip where the bullet had grazed him, but it’d held up admirably even under these conditions.

 

Speaking of which, Bucky needs one of those guns. He picks one up from the carcass of a creature and nearly crows with excitement. There are only three bullets in the chamber, but there are sure to be more among the group.

 

When he’s discovered about twelve in total, he raises them in triumph to the others, who are waiting on him with varying degrees of patience. Steve’s fond, Thor is beaming, and Sam is distinctly unimpressed. But Bucky is not going to apologize, not after the last few months. It’s the little things in life that keep him going. Like alien bullets in overpowered alien guns. Like how he and Steve are cautiously okay now, despite what it’d taken to get to that point.

 

The last one’s more than little, but he figures his point stands.

 

When the team is ready to go again, they follow Thor’s lead through one of the doors and into another corridor, this one large enough for them to walk two abreast. The team surprises the two guards standing outside one of the nondescript hallway doors; they both hit the floor within seconds. Seems like everyone’s jonesing for a good fight. 

 

Steve picks the pocket of one guard, finding the keycard to the room, which is full of chained human prisoners, packed in tightly. Each of them is shackled to a wall or a post by a metal collar around their necks. 

 

Among them is Clint Barton.

 

“Guys? Guys!” he yells, and Bucky and Nat are so attuned to him, they can hear him over the other prisoners clamoring for their attention. 

 

Clint’s face twists in confusion when he sees Steve. “Rogers?” he asks, like he’s not sure if this is a dream. 

 

“It’s me,” Steve confirms, busting his chains, though the collar around his neck will have to stay on until they find keys to those, too. 

 

“You’re not… one of them?”

 

“No,” he replies. “It’s a long story. We’ve gotta get you out of here. Do you know where the others are?”

 

Clint shakes his head and leans heavily on his rescuer; clearly he’s dehydrated and in need of a good meal, as well as some solid exercise. “I don’t even know who all’s here. Or where ‘here’ is. Just that these assholes are keeping us alive ‘for a limited time’ and ‘just in case.’ Which is asshole-speak for ‘I’m an asshole and I’m gonna keep being an asshole.’” He winces when his foot bends the wrong way. “What are we going to do with all these people?”

 

“Nothing we can do for now,” Natasha responds. Steve’s jaw tightens; Bucky is familiar with that look. 

 

“Nothing we can do, Steve,” he says, shooting Steve a warning glance. “If we don’t get the others, it might not matter.” 

 

Steve has never liked the thought of trading lives, and it wears heavily on him when he has to. But he’s also not the dumb punk he once was, having lived too long and seen too much to be that naive. He nods, and with a much heavier hand than necessary, closes the door on the rest.

 

Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, conveying his sympathy even as words escape him. He, personally, doesn’t care so much about the ones left behind, but he’d never pretended to be anything other than what he is. A man, maybe even a good man once upon a time, but not the kind of angel Steve is. Not special enough to have been chosen by Erskine.

 

“This has been too easy,” Natasha remarks. She sounds calm, but Bucky can see the worry in her eyes. “There have to be more of them. They have to care more than this.”

 

“Oh, they will,” Lady Thor assures them, smiling openly at Clint when he does a double-take. “For the most important prisoners, we will have to fight hard to get to them. These people were not worth the scrutiny, not with the fleet involved in battle. No offense, Mr. Barton.”

 

“None taken,” Clint says with wide eyes. He shakes his head, clearing out the cobwebs, and tries to stand on his own with minimal success. “What’s the deal with this place anyways? Right angles, loopy circles… it’s like a clown built it or something. Hey, I wonder if there are any vents I can climb into.”

 

Before Clint can even move, Bucky’s hand is on one shoulder and Nat’s on the other. “No!” they both say in unison.

 

Clint pouts. “But I wanna do the thing!” he says, gesturing to the ceiling. “I’ve been out in the open so long, I feel… claustrophobic. No, that’s not right.”

 

Bucky’s heart aches for him, because, unfortunately, he knows that feeling. Intimately. “We don’t even know if this place has vents, for one thing. And you’re not in any shape to be climbing anywhere.”

 

Steve nods, grabbing Clint around the waist again and pulling him close. “If I could, I’d send you back to the ship. But we need to find the others first.”

 

“Ship?” Clint asks, confused. “And what others, anyway?”

 

Bucky doesn’t want to tell him that he’s in the middle of a space battle. Clint would probably insist on finding a window to watch. 

 

“Shuri and Stark,” he says instead.

 

“Aww, Shuri, no,” Clint groans. “And Tony? Man, they’re going for gold, aren’t they?”

 

“Yes, and if we don’t get moving, their Skrull might be assassinated. And if that happens, they’ll kill them,” Nat says, no-nonsense, and that finally makes Clint get with the program.

 

“Shit, I’m a liability right now.”

 

“Just stay with Steve,” Nat soothes. “You know how to find cover if need be.”

 

“No pressure,” Clint grumbles, but he moves along, doing his best to walk straight. Bucky thinks he’s doing an admirable job of it, but he’d be kidding himself if he thought Clint would be ready for combat anytime soon.

 

Lady Thor leads the way, seemingly more prepared for this part of the mission than the others. They follow her, trusting and hoping that she’s not betraying them. As they’d been reminded numerous times, they have to trust somebody. 

 

“Through the next room, there should be an entrance to an auditorium of sorts,” she tells them. “It’s like a… throne room, I guess? The leader of this expedition will be there, though it will not be the leader of the Skrull themselves. He will be similar to a… minor noble? In your lands. One of us will need to take him out quickly. They lose heart after a leader falls.”

 

“Will the auditorium be full?” Steve asks, gripping his shield tightly in one hand and Clint in the other. 

 

“No way of knowing,” Thor admits. “We’ll have cover to figure out the situation, though, assuming this next room isn’t full of these awful creatures to sound the alarm.”

 

“And our friends?”

 

“They’ll be near, Captain Rogers. Come on, let us take this bastard out.”

 

Bucky - all of them except Thor, probably - hadn’t known that they’d been sent to assassinate the leader. Not that he’s complaining, it just would’ve been nice to know. If Shuri loses her life because of this, there will be hell to pay. Otherwise, Bucky is all in. He wants these fuckers off his planet for good. 

 

Once they get a good view of the auditorium, Bucky and Clint scan the place for high cover. Clint gets A Look from him and Natasha both, but ignores it. He doesn’t even have his bow and arrows with him. 

 

_ Would you do any differently if you didn’t have your gun? _

 

No, he wouldn’t. But unlike him, Clint is liable to play shenanigans. 

 

That’s not on him, though. As he watches Steve and Lady Thor talk tactics, they occasionally look over at him. Their not-so-subtle glances mean that Bucky will be the hero  _ du jour _ . He finds himself slipping into the mindset of the Soldier by habit. 

 

The auditorium is large, but relatively empty. A quick strike by his teammates will give him enough time to shoot the leader, a particularly ugly-looking creature sitting at a nondescript table at the front of the room. Like a throne, but modern. Absurdly normal in appearance. It makes Bucky uncomfortable for some indefinable reason. 

 

Steve nods at him, indicating that he should find a spot to set up. 

 

Whoever designed this place was an idiot, because as nice as the rest of the architecture is, as clean as the lines of the ship are despite their ‘clown-like’ appearance, there is an abundance of cover here. It looks like Ford Theatre - which, how does he know what Ford Theatre looks like? - balconies upon balconies overhead, crimson curtains and dark oak-like panels. It’s a gathering place, not built for assassinations in mind. Ford Theatre, indeed.

 

Bucky finds the balcony closest to the ‘throne’ and tries to line up a shot. It’s too acute an angle, though, so he moves silently to the next one over. The sound of preparing his rifle is quiet over the moderate noise below, but he still flinches. This is a closer shot than he’s used to making. He’s not nervous, per se, but a little unsettled. They’re on an alien ship, in the midst of a space battle, assassinating a minor noble of some doppelganger species Bucky’s never heard of; of course he’s going to be unsettled. 

 

In the end, it’s anticlimactic. Steve gives the signal and runs in, half-cocked as usual, tossing the shield he’d reclaimed like it’s part of his arm. Lady Thor rushes in similarly, while Nat and Sam add support from the air and ground, sleek and deadly in their black armor. The handful of Skrull present die quick and ugly. 

 

And Bucky performs his job like he’d never dropped a gun. The Skrull behind the table drops before he knows what hit him, a bullet between the eyes and angled down into where an Earth creature’s hindbrain would be.

 

And then, unbelievably, a ton of Skrulls enter the room from the very door the Lady Thor had warned them would be the most difficult to pass, apparently drawn by all the noise. Thor roars, no less loud than her male counterpart would have done. Steve’s shield flies impossibly faster, and even Natasha runs into the fray, out of throwing knives and ready to get her hands dirty. Bucky picks them off one by one. 

 

It’s an ugly fight, just as Thor had predicted, in part because the open space of the auditorium floor provides no cover and these fuckers have serious firepower. Nat gets hit in the shoulder and is knocked down, out of the fight, but thankfully this doesn’t happen until near the end of it. Sam’s wings get hit once, twice, and he’s flying wonky, but at least he’s still flying, able to correct his trajectory from practice. The Skrull are too busy on the ground to care about Bucky, who is hyper-aware of his surroundings. Even Clint has managed to find his own position on the balcony and is using an alien gun he picked up from… somewhere… to exact his revenge. Shaking and sweaty, probably light-headed, but holding his own nevertheless. It makes Bucky grin fiercely.

 

By the time it’s over, everyone is groaning, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to finish this. Even Steve is panting, and Bucky can’t even remember the last time he’d seen that. 

 

_ Maybe when he tried fighting Thanos with his bare goddamn hands, but let’s try to not think about that right now. _

 

Steve rallies, bless the man. “C’mon, it’s almost over. We’re close.”

 

They follow him through the door where their enemies had entered, and there, in the midst of a large, circular room, sit Tony and Shuri. Bucky runs toward their single cage, reaching in to grab Shuri’s tiny hand in his own. She closes her eyes and chuckles, fond amusement written all over her face despite the tiredness. 

 

“Sergeant Barnes, my white knight in shining armor. Literally,” she adds with a raised eyebrow, eyeing his uniform with a keen eye. “I have to ask, though: Why the bondage gear?”

 

Bucky laughs, a little hysterical, and replies, “Never change, doll.”

 

“And there you go again, using your old-fashioned words. Calling me a doll like I couldn’t run circles around you.”

 

He scoffs. “I’d call Steve that too, you know.”

 

Her eyes flick behind him quickly and then back. “I know,” she says with a sly grin. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

 

Bucky gives her an incredulous look. “You are the literal opposite of stupid. Anyone who thinks you’re stupid is… stupid.”

 

Tony, who had been watching the exchange with a sort of detached interest, snaps his head up at the mention of Steve. Staring open-mouthed at the former Captain, he attempts to speak, but whatever he has to say is locked in his throat. 

 

Steve smiles warmly at the two of them and finally steps forward, “It’s time to go home,” he tells them, bending the mouth of the cage enough for the two of them to duck out. 

 

“Thank you,” Shuri says on her way out, before running to Bucky and throwing her arms around him. 

 

Tony, for his part, simply walks out and stands there, wearing a look of confusion. He hugs back when Steve puts his arms around him, though. 

 

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve whispers, too soft for the others to hear but loud enough for Bucky’s enhanced ears. “You’re safe now. We’re here.”

 

Tony nods and grips him harder. It looks to Bucky like he’s trying to hold back tears. Of joy, or gratitude, or perhaps misery, Bucky’s not sure. He turns his face away to let the man keep some of his dignity. 

 

Steve activates the comm unit and informs the Kree of their position. 

 

“Unit two-seven-two, understood. Three minutes to extraction. Hold position, over.”

 

The group stands around, not saying much but practically bleeding a sense of relief. It finally looks like things are going to be okay. And when Steve’s eyes seek Bucky from across the room, they share a soft smile, one that brings tears to his eyes.

 

Yeah, things are going to be okay.

 

***

  
  


They don’t notice the ambush until it’s almost too late. 

 

_ No _ , thinks Bucky wildly.  _ It’s far too late. _

 

The creatures pour in through several concealed doors around the room. The team, having assumed they were safe, are not in a defensible position. Stupid. Still, Steve gestures them into some semblance of order, a poor one, but it’s all they’ve got. 

 

And they hold their own admirably for the most part, elite fighters that they are. It’s not enough, though. The hardness in their eyes and the grim set to their faces, mouths pressed into thin lines, speak the truth. Strange and the Kree are their only chance now.

 

He isn’t sure what comes over him, what makes him lunge for the man. Why he should care so much about saving Stark’s life, enough to nearly ensure it ends his own. Maybe a bit of Captain America has seeped into his bones, or maybe he’s a better man than he’d thought he was. Stark is more important to humanity’s future than Bucky had ever been, after all. 

 

The decision isn’t conscious, at any rate. He merely uses his superhuman speed to jump in front of Stark. But he’s not as fast as his best friend, not by a longshot, who watches in horror as Bucky plants himself in front of the machine gun. 

 

After that, everything slows down and moves too fast all at once. Steve takes multiple shots, absorbing them like a tank, and Bucky, idiot that he is, has hope through every painful second that Steve will manage to survive the onslaught. The team takes the creature out with a vengeance, killing it until it’s an unrecognizable mishmash of alien blood and gore. 

 

But Bucky only has eyes for Steve, only notices the bits of tissue that fly and the way Steve drops like a stone as the bullet goes straight through his heart.

 

He doesn’t remember the trip home. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I PROMISE IT GETS BETTER


	9. Just hold me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the ending! 
> 
> Thanks to my loyal readers who have stuck with me through the journey. I'd hoped (but didn't expect) for this fic to get decent exposure and reviews. It's a fic that's important to me and dear to my heart. 
> 
> Most of all, though, I'm going to bless and release all of my Endgame anxiety here and now. My headcanon is out there if Marvel does this to us.

 

 

The morgue is quiet at night. Not that that’s a surprise, but it’s something Bucky’d never considered in his unnaturally long life. He’d been used to sending bodies  _ to  _ the morgue, not visiting them there. He wishes, for the first time since his defection, that he could go back to the chair. Even after Steve had left, he hadn’t wished for that. Better he was alive with Peggy than gone for good. 

 

It’s too late to consider that now. Instead, he tries to focus on the fact that the two of them had had their moment, short and violent as it had been at times. Or at least he tries to focus on that. It’s not really working.

 

Bucky’s all cried out. He doesn’t want to see Steve for the last time through blurry eyes. He’d wanted this to be calm, bittersweet. Not hysterical, or else he’d miss his last opportunity to say what needs to be said. 

 

Only now that the moment is on him, he doesn’t know where to start. He opens his mouth several times, starts talking even, but no sound actually comes out. It takes a monumental effort to force the noise, and he’s beyond exhausted, both physically and emotionally. This, today and all the days since Thanos had been banished, has taken its toll. It almost ends up a silent vigil.

 

Bucky clears his throat and pushes the words out with a voice scraped raw. “I remember dying. Did I tell you that?” He forces himself to look at Steve, to memorize his features, still young and so peaceful now in death. “Not the first time, when the Germans found me. That’s a memory I’m glad to be rid of permanently. 

 

“No, I mean the next war, the last one we fought together. I’d made peace with it, before, in Wakanda. Out with the goats and Shuri’s smiling face, I remember thinking  _ yes, it could end here. I made it. I broke free and Steve found me, helped me clear my mind _ .” He chuckles wetly, unable to hold back a few tears. “That was all I asked of life, to be free of them. I thought I could finally die in peace when the moment came.

 

“But it did come, and it was still too soon. It hurt in an offhand kind of way, crumbling into dust, but that wasn’t the main thing, you know? It was more like knowing you had lost me and found me and lost me time and time again, and I’d promised you I wasn’t going anywhere, and yet. Yet there I was, dying again. If I’d had the time, I might’ve laughed. We’ve never been lucky, you and I, have we? 

 

“My last thought was of you. My last words. I wonder what the last thing you thought was. If you had time to think and know you were dying. If I was there in your head the way you were with me. I like to think  _ yes _ , but I don’t know if I’m too hopeful or stupid or what. You always did accuse me of not being the brightest.”

 

Bucky stops talking for a while, remembering how it had felt to die, how it felt to watch Steve die, how the two didn’t even begin to compare. Dying had hurt, had left him with too many regrets, too much sorrow in those last few moments, but Steve’s death had torn his soul wide open. He tries not to think about how he’s going to move forward from here. It seems an impossible task. 

 

“I don’t know where to go from here,” he says, all raw honesty. “Could really use your dumb ass advice, you know that? Thought I’d heard enough of it, but now… now I find myself wishing for you to just say something. Anything.”

 

But Steve remains still and silent, and suddenly, Bucky is angry again. He doesn’t want it to end this way, but it overtakes reason the same way it had in that safehouse.

 

“Why would you do this to me?” he whispers, desperately trying to keep it at bay. “You self-sacrificing jerk. And don’t say it makes me a damn hypocrite, asshole. If I’d known, if I’d thought for just a split fucking second, I wouldn’t have done it. Not for him. Losing you is not worth his life. Losing a million of him is not worth one of your lives.”

 

As suddenly as the anger had arrived, it leaves. Bucky knows that he has to say goodbye now, or he’ll never be able to walk away. 

 

Letting the tears fall freely, he keens and fights for the words once more. “Ma Rogers would’ve been proud of you. Over and over again, she would’ve. You’re such an asshole.”

 

He steels himself and leans over to place a kiss on Steve’s surprisingly warm forehead. “I love you, asshole. I always have. I always will.”

 

His voice deserts him then. Taking the first step toward the exit is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he manages somehow. And he doesn’t turn around until he’s two steps from the door, when an unsteady breath breaks the silence and he hears a voice he’d never thought he’d hear again.

 

“Bucky?”

 

***

 

Instead of planning a funeral, they plan a celebration at the former Avengers Tower. It’s for the lives of those they’ve lost and the one they’d gained back. For the peace and bittersweet joy that now hangs in the air, for as long as it will last.

 

Everyone wants to talk to the hero. Bucky doesn’t mind, since this time it’s not politicians and yes-men occupying Steve’s time, but friends. 

 

Bucky is so busy staring at Steve, he barely manages not to jump at Tony’s sudden presence by his side. “Barnes. I want to say thank you for saving my life a second time. I… know what you almost lost for it, and I’m sorry. Even though he’s alive somehow… I’m sorry.” Stark speaks with a look of weirdly bitter gratitude that throws Bucky off-balance more than this conversation would have anyway.

 

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Bucky says, though he’s not sure he believes himself. “I made my own choice, and so did Steve.”

 

“I know. I understand that. But I don’t think you would have done it if you’d foreseen the consequences. And I know for certain that I wouldn’t have. Not even on instinct. If it was Pepper’s life at stake... “ He shakes his head. “I grew up with dad obsessing over that man, over how genuinely decent Rogers was, and he wasn’t wrong. He’s ten times the man I could ever be on my best day.” Stark says it matter-of-factly, like he’s reciting the weather. “And considering how you feel about him… I wouldn’t blame you for dumping my ass in the trash over and over again just to save him.”

 

Bucky admires the man for admitting it, because he feels the same way. They’re kindred spirits in that sense, he and Stark. His agreement doesn’t need to be stated.

 

“I still hate you, by the way,” Stark continues. “I’ve forgiven you because my therapist says that’s important for me, though it took a lot of soul-searching to get there. But I’ll never be your friend, no matter how Steve feels about you.”

 

“I feel strangely relieved to hear you say that,” Bucky admits. “The other you made me uncomfortable. Like you’d just gotten over it in a… snap of the fingers.” Bucky winces at his own words. He’s quiet for a moment while the rest of what Stark had said sinks in. “Wait… how do you know how Steve feels about me?”

 

“Well, he was right about the Accords, at least in part, and he would’ve fought for the rights of anyone in your shoes, but the lengths he went to to rescue you? Beyond the pale. Well beyond. Anyone could see it.”

 

Silence falls between them as they watch everyone else and avoid looking at one another, still awkward despite their hard-won peace. Eventually, Tony asks, “How do you suppose he survived that?”

 

Bucky’s face twists in a grimace. “I don’t like to think about it.”

 

“On a broader scale, it means he’s functionally immortal,” Stark says shrewdly, putting into words what Bucky’d been avoiding in his thoughts. “I wonder if he can die?”

 

“Again,” Bucky says, rather testily, “I don’t want to think about it.”

 

Across the room, on the other side of a feast large enough to make even Lady Thor blush, Steve ends his conversation with a hug from Wanda and makes his way to the two of them. He smiles at them, wide and open, hiding nothing, especially not his joy at seeing his best guys together. 

 

Bucky and Tony give each other rueful half-smiles as the former Captain approaches. In fact, now that Bucky thinks about it, he’s not sure if Steve will become Captain America again or if he’ll move on to something else.

 

As if reading his mind, Stark asks the same question.

 

“I don’t know yet,” Steve answers. “Not thinking past the fact that I’m alive right now.”

 

“Fair,” Stark says, shaking Steve’s hand. “I’ll leave you two to your… whatever you call it. Good to have you back, Rogers.”

 

Wearing a bemused expression, Steve watches him walk away. Then he turns and takes Bucky by the hand. “Time to escape?” he asks with a grin.

 

“You’ve been waiting for that, haven’t you.”

 

“All day. Not that I’m not happy to see the others, but I need to be with just you for a while.”

 

Bucky  _ tsks _ . “Want me to yourself that much? You have terrible taste,” he adds with a grin when Steve nods.

 

They leave to a chorus of goodbyes, hand-in-hand and smiling softly at each other. 

 

***

 

The ride home is quiet but comfortable. They’ve rented an apartment in Brooklyn until they can find a permanent place. Bucky wouldn’t mind staying in New York, but Steve wants to go elsewhere, at least for a little while. Bucky doesn’t really care one way or the other, as long as they’re together. 

 

“Do you forgive me?” Steve finally asks. “Not that it matters. We’re here and we’re together, and I couldn’t be happier with that outcome. But I’d like to know anyway.”

 

“Not yet.” Steve turns to look at him with an unreadable expression, taking his eyes off the road. “But I will. It’ll take time, but I will.”

 

“I love you. Those were the first words I heard when I woke up, you know.”

 

Bucky blushes and hides his grin behind his hair. 

 

“I also seem to recall the word ‘asshole’ somewhere in there,” Steve adds with a grin of his own, turning back to the road. 

 

“Well, you are.”

 

“Oh, I admit it. To you, anyway. But don’t tell the others.”

 

“Not my fault they can’t see what’s in front of their own faces,” Bucky says with a shrug. “But you’re  _ my _ asshole, which is really what matters. And don’t start with the jokes. Yes, I know how it sounds.”

 

“I was selfish,” Steve says after a pause. “Wanted my cake, wanted to eat it, too. And now I’ve gotten it, but I don’t know how you could possibly forgive me for what I’ve done. I don’t know how you’re still here.”

 

Bucky grunts in agreement. “I don’t either.”

 

His confession startles Steve into a laugh. “We make a pair, don’t we? Cynical bastard of an assassin, tortured and tormented, in love with an asshole who’s never known how to appreciate what he had when he had it. But I do now, Bucky. I do. I swear it to you.”

 

“I believe you,” Bucky whispers. “God help me, Steve, even after everything, you are still my home.” 

 

“I was always your asshole,” Steve says, almost under his breath, almost like he’s afraid to admit it. Like he’s afraid Bucky won’t believe him, after what he’d done. 

 

But Bucky knows. And he realizes he’s always known, somewhere deep inside, that in the end, it would be the two of them. All the resentment he’d held for Peggy drops like trash and leaves him weightless and floating free in the wind. 

 

***

 

They’re busy in the kitchen, putting away the last of their borrowed housewares, when the shock hits. 

 

Bucky drops a plate to the cheap linoleum; it chips but doesn’t shatter, an apt metaphor if there ever was one. He follows, landing on his knees right in front of the dishwasher. Steve, a few feet away, rushes to Bucky’s side almost before he hits the ground. Bucky leans in to those strong shoulders that have carried far too much over the years. It doesn’t seem fair to add one more thing to Steve’s load. If anyone should be breaking down here, it’s him.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmurs into Bucky’s hair. “You’re allowed to fall apart.”

 

“Steve…”

 

“Don’t argue with me,” Steve says, a little more forcefully. “I’m a lot older than you, y’know.”

 

A half-whimper, half-chuckle escapes Bucky, which quickly turn into big, gulping sobs. Even when he’d thought Steve dead, he hadn’t cried like this. The emotional whiplash of having lost him and getting him back yet again is almost too much to bear, squeezing his heart like a vise. He feels light-headed, traumatized, too weak to even lift his head. 

 

Steve picks him up effortlessly. Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist on instinct, gripping him like he refuses to let go. Doesn’t fight as Steve carries him to the living room and backs him up against the wall. 

 

“Feel me,” he says, all liquidy-soft and in Bucky’s face. He holds Bucky with his weight and takes Bucky’s hands to wrap around his biceps. “I’m here. Alive. As strong as I ever was.”

 

Bucky closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of Steve’s muscles. His pulse, his life’s blood, rushes strong underneath Bucky’s fingers, evidence that the purest heart to have ever beaten on this Earth, the heart he’d thought gone silent forever, is still there. Still beating. Still fighting. 

 

It will take a long time to convince himself that it will stay that way, despite the evidence in front of him and around him. That this is happening. That Steve is real, warm, and alive.

 

He leans his head back against the wall, keeps his eyes closed. “I saw you die. It went right through your heart.” 

 

“I know it did,” Steve murmurs softly. The world spins as he leans in and kisses Bucky, soft and nearly chaste, only deepening the kiss just before he pulls away. Bucky chases him, wanting more. Needing more, needing all of it. Everything Steve has to give and then some. “I’m sorry. Leaving. My death. You’re the last person in the entire world I’d ever want to hurt, and I hurt you the most out of all of them.”

 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just lets Steve hold him. His way of saying:  _ It’s true, but I’m still here. Still in your arms, even after all this. Still love you. _

 

They’re both silent for awhile. Motionless. Steve could hold him forever like this, Bucky wrapped around him, leaning against the wall. It wouldn’t be a hardship for either of them. 

 

“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” Bucky murmurs. “I know it… helped, I guess. Somehow. Completely, I dunno, broke the thing completely so we could mend it. But I’m still sorry.”

 

Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “We should probably stop apologizing. All that’s in the past now.”

 

“I know,” Bucky replies, feeling Steve’s hot breath wash over his lips. “But I wouldn’t be who I am without my past, and as bad as it is… I don’t want to forget it.”

 

Steve kisses him, all soft and sweet. “But don’t live there,” he insists as he pulls back. 

 

Instead of answering, Bucky chases his lips. Steve huffs a laugh and leans back in, kissing him a little deeper this time. When Bucky tilts his head, Steve delivers exactly what he wants, lazily exploring his mouth and sucking on his tongue. The world grows fuzzy around the edges as Bucky’s awareness narrows down to the physical reality of Steve pressed against him, body hot and alive, growing more aroused by the second. Bucky’s body responds, helpless in the face of Steve’s enthusiasm. 

 

Like magic, Steve undoes their jeans one-handed, pushing down their underwear until they’re both bare to mid-thigh. Bucky grips the back of Steve’s neck tightly as he takes both of their cocks in that big hand and strokes upward. After that, it’s a free-for-all, bodies straining together, Steve leading him to climax and surrender and  _ yes, Steve, take all of it, I’m yours _ .

 

Steve sets Bucky down gently, settles in against the wall and pulls Bucky against him, back to chest. Boneless and pliant, he doesn’t fight the manhandling. It feels too good to be this close to Steve.

 

“Did we just have life-affirming sex? I feel like a walking stereotype,” Bucky says when he’s gotten his breath back.

 

Steve chuckles, causing a few strands of hair to blow outward with his breath.

 

“And our junk is still hanging out. It’s amazing you didn’t trip over your pants when you set me down.”

 

“C’mon, I’ve got better balance than that. Give me some credit.”

 

“ _ And _ ,” Bucky continues, as though he hasn’t heard Steve, “I’m covered in drying come.  _ And _ leaning against your chest, which is  _ also _ covered in drying come. I’m not impressed with our life choices right now.”

 

Steve wraps him tight, pulls him against his - yes, come-covered - chest, and kisses his temple, wordlessly saying _ I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. _

 

Bucky settles for a while, letting their racing hearts calm, but eventually, even Steve gets sick of the mess and the cold hardwood underneath them. Without further discussion, they agree to wash up and head to bed early. It’s been a long day… week, month… lifetime. They’ve earned some rest. 

 

As he’s drifting off, it occurs to Bucky that these are the moments that matter most. No matter what happens after this, no matter how long the two of them have together, this is what he has to do: not live in the past. Steve’s right about that, as he is about most things. Bucky’s job now is to step out of the shadow of what’s happened to him, to them, what they’ve done to and with each other, and make something new together. To let Steve hold him and do his best to never let go. 

 

He falls asleep with one arm tucked underneath Steve’s neck, the other wrapped around his torso, hand directly over his heart. Its beat grounds him here, now, reminds him that they’re both alive and in each other’s arms. And he knows that, if the past he’d had to pay in order to have this? He’d pay it over and over and over again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
